Antiquarians -- Fiction; Beggars -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Love stories; Scotland -- Fiction
The Earl of Glenallan was therefore seated in an apartment hung with
black cloth, which waved in dusky folds along its lofty walls. A screen,
also covered with black baize, placed towards the high and narrow
window, intercepted much of the broken light which found its way through
the stained glass, that represented, with such skill as the fourteenth
century possessed, the life and sorrows of the prophet Jeremiah. The
table at which the Earl was seated was lighted with two lamps wrought
in silver, shedding that unpleasant and doubtful light which arises from
the mingling of artificial lustre with that of general daylight. The
same table displayed a silver crucifix, and one or two clasped parchment
books. A large picture, exquisitely painted by Spagnoletto, represented
the martyrdom of St. Stephen, and was the only ornament of the
apartment.
The inhabitant and lord of this disconsolate chamber was a man not past
the prime of life, yet so broken down with disease and mental misery, so
gaunt and ghastly, that he appeared but a wreck of manhood; and when
he hastily arose and advanced towards his visitor, the exertion seemed
almost to overpower his emaciated frame. As they met in the midst of
the apartment, the contrast they exhibited was very striking. The hale
cheek, firm step, erect stature, and undaunted presence and bearing of
the old mendicant, indicated patience and content in the extremity of
age, and in the lowest condition to which humanity can sink; while the
sunken eye, pallid cheek, and tottering form of the nobleman with
whom he was confronted, showed how little wealth, power, and even the
advantages of youth, have to do with that which gives repose to the
mind, and firmness to the frame.
The Earl met the old man in the middle of the room, and having commanded
his attendant to withdraw into the gallery, and suffer no one to enter
the antechamber till he rung the bell, awaited, with hurried yet fearful
impatience, until he heard first the door of his apartment, and then
that of the antechamber, shut and fastened by the spring-bolt. When he
was satisfied with this security against being overheard, Lord Glenallan
came close up to the mendicant, whom he probably mistook for some person
of a religious order in disguise, and said, in a hasty yet faltering
tone, "In the name of all our religion holds most holy, tell me,
reverend father, what am I to expect from a communication opened by a
token connected with such horrible recollections?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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