Peregrine stared at the copper face of the old woman, and all his fears were lost in the disgust which filled him on the sudden. He asked in a tolerably harsh tone,-- "What has become of the strange lady who was here yesterday evening? Did you open the door for her? Did you look to a coach for her, as I ordered? Was she taken home?" "Open doors!" said the old woman with an abominable grin, which she intended for a sly laugh--"Look to a coach! taken home!--There was no need of all this:--the fair damsel is in the house, and won't leave the house for the present." Peregrine started up in joyful alarm; and she now proceeded to tell him how, when the lady was leaping down the stairs in a way that almost stunned her, Mr. Swammer stood below, at the door of his room, with an immense branch-candlestick in his hand. The old gentleman, with a profusion of bows, contrary to his usual custom, invited the lady into his apartment, and she slipt in without any hesitation, and her host locked and bolted the door. The conduct of the misanthropic Swammer was too strange for Alina not to listen at the door, and peep a little through the keyhole. She then saw him standing in the middle of the room, and talking so wisely and pathetically to the lady, that she herself had wept, though she had not understood a single word, he having spoken in a foreign language. She could not think otherwise than that the old gentleman had laboured to bring her back to the paths of virtue, for his vehemence had gradually increased, till the damsel at last sank upon her knees and kissed his hand with great humility: she had even wept a little. Upon this he lifted her up very kindly, kissed her forehead,--in doing which he was forced to stoop terribly,--and then led her to an arm-chair. He next busied himself in making a fire, brought some spices, and, as far as she could perceive, began to mull some wine. Unluckily the old woman had just then taken snuff, and sneezed aloud; upon which Swammer, stretching out his arm to the door, exclaimed with a terrible voice, that went through the marrow of her bones, "Away with thee, listening Satan!"--She knew not how she had got off and into her bed; but in the morning, upon opening her eyes, she fancied she saw a spectre; for before her stood Mr. Swammer in a handsome sable-fur, with gold buckles, his hat on his head, his stick in his hand.