tall fluted pillars and pointed arches, its windows of stained
glass, its display of arms and banners intermingled with holly and
mistletoe, its blazing cressets and torches, and a stupendous fire
in the centre, on which blocks of pine were flaming and crackling,
had a striking effect on eyes unaccustomed to such a dining-room.
The fire was open on all sides, and the smoke was caught and
carried back under a funnel-formed canopy into a hollow central
pillar. This fire was the line of demarcation between gentle and
simple on days of high festival. Tables extended from it on two
sides to nearly the end of the hall.

Mrs. Chainmail was introduced to the company. Young Crotchet felt
some revulsion of feeling at the unexpected sight of one whom he
had forsaken, but not forgotten, in a condition apparently so much
happier than his own. The lady held out her hand to him with a
cordial look of more than forgiveness; it seemed to say that she
had much to thank him for. She was the picture of a happy bride,
rayonnante de joie et d'amour.

Mr. Crotchet told the Reverend Doctor Folliott the news of the
morning. "As you predicted," he said, "your friend, the learned
friend, is in office; he has also a title; he is now Sir Guy de
Vaux."

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. Thank heaven for that! he is disarmed from
further mischief. It is something, at any rate, to have that
hollow and wind-shaken reed rooted up for ever from the field of
public delusion.

MR. CROTCHET. I suppose, Doctor, you do not like to see a great