"And they knew my master, sir," said Hallings, turning to me, and appealing to L---- to confirm the truth of his assertion--"They knew my master, and, poor small creatures as they were, must have loved him too in their way, as every living thing did; for they used to buzz all round him as he sat there, and often pitch upon him, even upon his hands or head, and never one was known to sting him, vengeful as they were if strangers made too free near their hives, or among the flower-beds my master used to call their pleasure-grounds." "What has become of old Ralph and the tortoise, Hallings?" asked L----, as he stopt to take a melancholy survey of the altered scene. "The gold-fish, of course, have been long destroyed, for I see the little basin with its small fountain is quite choked up with dead leaves and rubbish." "Mr Heneage Devereux took out the gold-fish, sir, the week after my master's death," replied the old butler; "but the tortoise had buried himself for the winter; and when he crawled out the spring afterwards, and took to his old haunt in the basin, one would have supposed he found out the change that had taken place, for the creature was quite restless; and I often found him out of the water, and making his way about the garden, as if in search of something; and for a long, long time, old Ralph and he--for Ralph is living, sir, and you will see him presently--he and the old raven were the only living creatures, beside the birds, that did not desert the poor old place--except myself indeed. I could never keep away from it a whole day together, and I used to come here to feed old Ralph too; for it was long before we could lure him to the cottage for his food, and now he is almost always here, and hides himself for the most part in the great bay-tree there in the corner, where part of the north gable is still standing."