to each other, sometimes awed and respectful, sometimes tittering behind their prayer-books, where “the Captain” sat in state. The Captain was a “fine man” everybody allowed--well proportioned, well preserved--a young man of his age; and his age was mere boyhood in comparison with many of his peers and brethren. It was ridiculous to see him there among all those old fellows, the girls said; and as for Polly, as she slipped humbly into a free seat, the sight of him sitting there in his stall quite overpowered her. If all went well, she herself would have a place there by-and-by--not in the stalls indeed, but in the humble yet dignified places provided for the families of the Chevaliers. It must not be supposed that even the Chevaliers’ stalls were equal to those provided for the hierarchy of the Abbey. They were a lower range, and on a different level altogether, but still they were places of dignity. Captain Despard put his arms upon the carved supports of his official seat, and looked around him like a benevolent monarch. When anyone asked him a question as he went or came he was quite affable, and called to the verger with a condescending readiness to oblige. “You must find a place for this gentleman, Wykeham,” he would say; “this gentleman is a friend of mine.” Wykeham only growled at these recommendations, but Captain Despard passed on to his stall with the air of having secured half a dozen places at least; and his _protégés_ felt a vague belief in him, even when they did not find themselves much advanced by it. And there he sat, feeling that every change in his position was noted, and that he himself was an essential part of the show--that show which was so good for keeping up all the traditions of English society, making the Church respected, and enforcing attention to religion--indeed, a very handsome compliment to the Almighty himself.