'So Doctor Bryerly is here,' I said.

'That's the thin fellow, wi' the sharp look, and the shiny black coat, that
went up just now?' asked Milly.

'Yes, he's gone into your papa's room,' said I.

''Appen 'twas he come 'tother night. He may be staying here, though we see
him seldom, for it's a barrack of a house--it is.'

The same thought had struck me for a moment, but was dismissed immediately.
It certainly was _not_ Doctor Bryerly's figure which I had seen.

So, without any new light gathered from this apparition, we went on our
way, and made our little sketch of the ruined bridge. We found the gate
locked as before; and, as Milly could not persuade me to climb it, we got
round the paling by the river's bank.

While at our drawing, we saw the swarthy face, sooty locks, and old
weather-stained red coat of Zamiel, who was glowering malignly at us
from among the trunks of the forest trees, and standing motionless as a
monumental figure in the side aisle of a cathedral. When we looked again he
was gone.

Although it was a fine mild day for the wintry season, we yet, cloaked as
we were, could not pursue so still an occupation as sketching for more than
ten or fifteen minutes. As we returned, in passing a clump of trees, we
heard a sudden outbreak of voices, angry and expostulatory; and saw, under
the trees, the savage old Zamiel strike his daughter with his stick two
great blows, one of which was across the head. 'Beauty' ran only a short