So Cousin Monica was at the door in a moment, over her shoulder calling to
us, 'Come, girls.'

'Please, not yet, my lady--you alone; and he requests the young ladies will
be in the way, as he will send for them presently.'

I began to admire poor 'Giblets' as the wreck of a tolerably respectable
servant.

'Very good; perhaps it is better we should kiss and be friends in private
first,' said Cousin Knollys, laughing; and away she went under the guidance
of the mummy.

I had an account of this _tête-à-tête_ afterwards from Lady Knollys.

'When I saw him, my dear,' she said, 'I could hardly believe my eyes; such
white hair--such a white face--such mad eyes--such a death-like smile.
When I saw him last, his hair was dark; he dressed himself like a modern
Englishman; and he really preserved a likeness to the full-length portrait
at Knowl, that you fell in love with, you know; but, angels and ministers
of grace! such a spectre! I asked myself, is it necromancy, or is it
delirium tremens that has reduced him to this? And said he, with that
odious smile, that made me fancy myself half insane--

'"You see a change, Monica."

'What a sweet, gentle, insufferable voice he has! Somebody once told me
about the tone of a glass flute that made some people hysterical to listen
to, and I was thinking of it all the time. There was always a peculiar