The morning following the saturnalia was cold and bleak. Without it was snowing hard, and the windows of the old inn were covered with frost crystals. Breakfast was late, few of the members of the club having yet risen, apparently not yet recovered from the effects of the previous evening. The landlord exerted himself to make the interior of his inn as cheerful as the gloomy state of the weather would permit. A large log crackled on the hearth, and the breakfast table teemed with all the delicacies that the inn could boast of; coffee, toast, hot rolls, eggs and bacon, ham, chicken, tongue, and fresh butter. One by one the guests made their appearance. They seemed to have slept well, for they looked none the worse for their last night's carousal. The last to enter the breakfast room was our fresh arrival, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp. He presented a very different appearance to any of the rest. He was pale and haggard, and his hair hung disordered over his eyes. "I'm afraid you have not slept well, Mr. McGuilp," said Mr. Oldstone. "What is the matter? It surely can't be the punch, for you drank less than any of us last night. Why, I don't believe you drank more than a couple of glasses the whole time; but perhaps you are not accustomed to these orgies, and a little upsets you. Look at us--seasoned old casks all of us--we are as jolly as ever. As for myself, I never felt better in all my life." "Oh, it is not that," replied our artist; "but I feel somehow I passed an indifferent night." Dr. Bleedem felt the pulse and looked at the tongue of the new guest, and pronounced him a little feverish, but said that it would soon pass over. "My blessed eyes!" cried the captain, "if the gentleman doesn't look as scared as I felt when the shark was at my heels last night. What say you mine host?" "Well, Captain," said the landlord, "if I might venture a remark, the gentleman looks as if he had had a visit from the _headless lady_." McGuilp started. "Why do you start, sir?" inquired Mr. Blackdeed, who alone had noticed the action, his eye being ever open to anything of a dramatic effect. "A little nervousness, that is all," replied the artist. "I feel far from well this morning." "I assure you, your action was quite dramatic," said the tragedian. "Oblige me by repeating it. Thank you; I'll practise it before the glass this morning. It will just do for my tragedy, when the wicked baron, who is in the act of carrying off a lady by force, is suddenly checked in his career by the appearance of the spirit of her brother, whom he has murdered." "Ha! What's that all about?" cried Oldstone, who had pricked up his ears at something resembling a story, while the rest were gossiping on indifferent matters. "You must act us a scene out of that tragedy, Blackdeed; remember, we had no story from you last night." "Breakfast is ready, gentlemen," said the landlord. The guests flocked round the table and commenced their repast.