I think I had better say good-night;" and he graciously retired.



CHAPTER 9


About the same time that Lothair had repaired to the residence of Mr.
Giles, Monsignore Berwick, whose audience of the cardinal in the morning
had preceded that of the legal adviser of the trustees, made his way
toward one of the noblest mansions in St. James's Square, where resided
Lord St. Jerome.

It was a mild winter evening; a little fog still hanging about, but
vanquished by the cheerful lamps, and the voice of the muffin-bell was
just heard at intervals; a genial sound that calls up visions of trim
and happy hearths. If we could only so contrive our lives as to go into
the country for the first note of the nightingale, and return to town
for the first note of the muffin-bell, existence, it is humbly presumed,
might be more enjoyable.

Monsignore Berwick was a young man, but looking younger from a
countenance almost of childhood; fair, with light-blue eyes, and flaxen
hair and delicate features. He was the last person you would have fixed
upon as a born Roman; but Nature, in one of the freaks of race, had
resolved that his old Scottish blood should be reasserted, though his:
ancestors had sedulously blended it, for, many generations, with that of
the princely houses of the eternal city. The monsignore was the
greatest statesman of Rome, formed and favored by Antonelli and probably
his successor.