But if the Captain brought confusion with him to the mansion, it was evident, at the first glance Miss Falconer had of it, that the deranging fiend had been there before him, and still kept possession. The sun was then setting--a multitude of persons, old and young, sallow and sable, were bustling about in the shadows of the porch, some running to and fro with burthens in their hands, others shouting and screaming, or staring about them in speechless wonder; the carriage stood at the door, the ancient charioteer sitting whip in hand, as if expecting orders to start at a moment's warning, while a smart mulatto in livery was engaged strapping a portmanteau behind it. Horses, saddled and bridled, were hitched to trees, or held by servants; dogs were barking; pigeons flying about; and in a word, it seemed as if the inhabitants of the Folly, male and female, human and animal, were one and all preparing, in some ecstasy of confusion, to desert its troubled walls. "In the name of heaven, uncle! what means all this?" cried Miss Falconer, recognising in the livery-servant a personal attendant of her own father, and in the portmanteau which he was fastening to the carriage, one of the repositories of her own womanly vanities. Before the Captain could answer a word, the confusion was doubly confounded by the clatter of hoofs, and in an instant two horsemen in military apparel, came thundering up the avenue, as if the lives of a community depended upon their speed. "My brother Henry, as I live!" cried the lady, starting forward. "Captain, what _is_ the matter? Brother! heavens, brother! what can all this mean?" At this, one half of the human elements of the chaos lifted up their voices, and groaned aloud, "Oh, the Gilberts! the bloody Gilberts!" "Sister!" cried the foremost of the young soldiers, flinging himself from his steed, catching Miss Falconer in his arms, and speaking with a manner strangely compounded of horror and merriment,--"they have been at dad again! but don't fall into a fit--there's no murder this time! no, egad, only a few scratches. Don't be alarmed.--Ah, Miss Loring! my dear Miss Catherine!--you look dreadful pale--don't be frightened--beg pardon for coming in such a condition. Heard of it, Harry?--(my friend, Brooks,--Lieutenant Brooks, of the troop)--knew they'd send for you,--bent out of course--deflected, made a _detour_, as we say,--to fetch you. Not a moment to lose--must be in town by sunrise, if horse-flesh can carry us.--How d'ye do, Captain? All ready for marching?"