Poor John reluctantly opened the gate and let the carriage pass--they drove on--they cast a lingering look behind as they quitted the park-- --“Must I then leave thee, Paradise?”-- As they passed through the village the poor people came out of their houses to take leave of their excellent landlord; they flocked round the carriage, and hung upon it till it stopped, and then, with one voice, they poured forth praises, and blessings, and prayers for better days. Just at this moment Sir Robert Percy made his appearance. His equipage was splendid; his coachman drove his four fine horses down the street, the middle of which was cleared in an instant. The crowd gazed at the show as it passed--Sir Robert gave a signal to his coachman to drive slower, that he might longer enjoy the triumph--he put his head out of the coach window, but no one cried, “God bless him!” His insolence was obviously mortified as he passed the Percy family, for Mr. Percy bowed with an air of dignity and cheerfulness which seemed to say, “My fortune is yours--but I am still myself.” Some of the spectators clapped their hands, and some wept. Mr. Percy seemed to have prepared his mind for every circumstance of his departure, and to be perfectly composed, or at least master of his feelings; but a small incident, which had not been foreseen, suddenly moved him almost to tears: as they crossed the bridge, which was at the farthest end of the village, they heard the muffled bells of the church toll as if for a public calamity [Footnote: On Mr. Morris’s departure from Piercefield the same circumstance happened.]. Instantly recollecting the resentment to which these poor people were exposing themselves, by this mark of their affection and regret, Mr. Percy went by a short path to the church as quickly as possible, and had the bells unmuffled. CHAPTER XII.