"Pull down this! Don't hint at such an idea to Mr. Darrell. He would as
soon have pulled down the British Monarchy! Nay, I suspect, sooner."

"But the new building must surely have swallowed up the old one?"

"Oh, no; Mr. Darrell had a plan by which he would have enclosed this
separately in a kind of court, with an open screen-work or cloister; and
it was his intention to appropriate it entirely to mediaeval antiquities,
of which he has a wonderful collection. He had a notion of illustrating
every earlier reign in which his ancestors flourished,--different
apartments in correspondence with different dates. It would have been a
chronicle of national manners."

"But, if it be not an impertinent question, where is this collection?
In London?"

"Hush! hush! I will give you a peep of some of the treasures, only don't
betray me."

Fairthorn here, with singular rapidity, considering that he never moved
in a straightforward direction, undulated into the open air in front of
the house, described a rhomboid towards a side-buttress in the new
building, near to which was a postern-door; unlocked that door from a key
in his pocket, and, motioning Lionel to follow him, entered within the
ribs of the stony skeleton. Lionel followed in a sort of supernatural
awe, and beheld, with more substantial alarm, Mr. Fairthorn winding up an
inclined plank which lie embraced with both arms, and by which he
ultimately ascended to a timber joist in what should have been an upper
floor, only flooring there was none. Perched there, Fairthorn glared