I believe that her ladyship is going to Carey House, and on to the Marquis of Waterford’s ball,” he added, hastily consulting a diary on the hall table. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. " "Not now—not now!" she returned, with a shudder. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect.
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