14
WYLDER'S HAJVD.
We had to get along a dim oak-pannelled passage, and in-
to a sort of oeil-de-b<Buf, with a lantern light above, from
which diverged two other corridors, and a short puzzling
turn or two brought us to the head of the upper stairs.
For I, being a bachelor, and treated accordingly, was air-
ily perched on the third story.
It was dark by this time, and the drawing-room — a vast
and grand chamber, with no light but the fire and a pair
of dim soft lamps near the sofas and ottomans, lofty, and
glowing with rich tapestry curtains, and pictures, and mir-
rors, and carved oak, and marble — was already tenanted
by the ladies.
Old Lady Chelford, stiff and rich, a Vandyke dowager,
with a general effect of deep lace, funereal velvet, and
pearls; and pale, with dreary eyes, and thin high nose,
sat in a high-backed carved oak throne, with red cushions.
To her I was first presented, and cursorily scrutinised
with a stately old-fashioned insolence, as if I were a can-
didate footman, and so dismissed. On a low seat, chatting
to her as I came up, was a very handsome and rather
singular-looking girl, fair, with a light golden-tinted hair;
and a countenance, though then grave enough, instinct with
a promise of animation and spirit not to be mistaken.
Could this be the heroine of the pending alliance? No;
I was mistaken. A third lady, at what would have been
an ordinary room's length away, half-reclining on an ot-
toman, was now approached by Wylder, who presented me
to Miss Brandon.
"Dorcas, this is my old friend, Charles de Cresseron.
You have often heard me speak of him; and I want you
to shake hands and make his acquaintance, and draw him
out — do you see - for he's a shy youth, and must be en-
couraged.
The lady rose, in a soft floating way; tall, black-haired