Mrs. Wilson found time the ensuing day to ascertain before they left the hall, the truth of the tale related by Mr. Haughton. The deanery had certainly changed its master, and a new steward had already arrived to take possession in the name of his lord. What induced Pendennyss to make this purchase she was at a loss to conceive—most probably some arrangement between himself and Lord Bolton. But whatever might be his motive, it in some measure insured his becoming for a season their neighbor; and Mrs. Wilson felt a degree of pleasure at the circumstance that she had been a stranger to for a long time—a pleasure which was greatly heightened as she dwelt on the lovely face of the companion who occupied the other seat in her travelling chaise.
The road to London led by the gates of the deanery, and near them they passed a servant in the livery of those they had once seen following the equipage of the earl. Anxious to know anything which might hasten her acquaintance with this admired nobleman, Mrs. Wilson stopped her carriage to inquire.
"Pray, sir, whom do you serve?"
"My Lord Pendennyss, ma'am," replied the man, respectfully taking off his hat.
"The earl is not here?" asked Mrs. Wilson, with interest.
"Oh, no, madam; I am here in waiting on his steward. My lord is in Westmoreland, with his Grace and Colonel Denbigh, and the ladies."
"Does he remain there long?" continued the anxious widow, desirous of knowing all she could learn.
"I believe not, madam; most of our people have gone
