De Brooke and Rosilia found themselves upon a sudden embosomed in a recess the most luxuriant and flowery. Sir Howard called to the driver to stop; he wished to alight. It was just at the entrance of a little pathway, overshadowed by trees, whose entwining branches formed a sort of arbour. It seemed a spot formed for Dryads, or where an eremite might meditate without fear of disturbance.
Thus thought Rosilia, when there suddenly appeared in the winding path a figure, tall, slight, and fragile, bent by years and infirmity, whose aspect was that of poverty; supported by crutches he moved slowly and feebly along; a faint smile cheered his withered countenance as his eyes, sunk beneath furrowed brows, rested with complacency upon Sir Howard, before whom he stopped.
"May heaven reward you," said he, addressing him in broken accents, "may heaven bless you, my good, my honoured Sir!"
"How does Madge?" inquired Sir Howard in accents of benignity.
"She be quite well, and she'll be a deal glad to see you if you be coming down to the cot."
In attempting to turn he dropped one of his crutches, and would have fallen to the ground had he not been supported by Sir Howard, who, begging Mrs. De Brooke to excuse him for a few minutes, proceeded on with his venerable companion.
Deeply participating in this interesting scene, as soon as Rosilia, by an abrupt turning, lost sight of
