“Is not the name of the Duke of Derwent, Denbigh?” inquired Mrs. Wilson, with a thoughtful manner.

“Certainly, madam, Denbigh,” replied the earl, with a gravity with which he always spoke of dignities; “one of our most ancient names, and descended on the female side from the Plantagenets and Tudors.”

He now rose to take his leave, and on bowing to the younger ladies, laughingly repeated his intention of bringing his cousin (an epithet he never omitted), Pendennyss, to their feet.

“Do you think, sister,” said Lady Moseley, after the earl had retired, “that Mr. Denbigh is of the house of Derwent?”

“I cannot say,” replied Mrs. Wilson, musing, “yet it is odd, Chatterton told me of his acquaintance with Lady Harriet Denbigh, but not with the Duke.”

As this was spoken in the manner of a soliloquy, it received no answer, and was in fact but little attended to by any of the party, excepting Emily, who glanced her eye once or twice at her aunt as she was speaking, with an interest the name of Denbigh never failed to excite.  Harriet was, she thought, a pretty name, but Marian was a prettier; if, thought Emily, I could know a Marian Denbigh, I am sure I could love her, and her name too.

The Moseleys now began to make their preparations for their departure to L——­, and the end of the succeeding week was fixed for the period at which they were to go.  Mrs. Wilson urged a delay of two or three days, in order to give her an opportunity of meeting with the Earl of Pendennyss, a young man in whom, although she had relinquished her former romantic wish of uniting him to Emily, in favor of Denbigh, she yet felt a deep interest, growing out of his connexion with the last moments of her husband, and, his uniformly high character.

Sir Edward accordingly acquainted his uncle, that on the following Saturday he might expect to receive himself and family, intending to leave the hall in the afternoon of the preceding day, and reach Benfield lodge to dinner.  This arrangement once made, and Mr. Benfield notified of it, was unalterable, the old man holding a variation from an engagement a deadly sin.  The week succeeding the accident which had nearly proved so fatal to Denbigh, the inhabitants of the hall were surprised with the approach of a being, as singular in his manners and dress as the equipage which conveyed him to the door of the house.  The latter consisted of a high-backed, old-fashioned sulky, loaded with leather and large-headed brass nails; wheels at least a quarter larger in circumference than those of the present day, and wings on each side large enough to have supported a full grown roc in the highest regions of the upper air.  It was drawn by a horse, once white, but whose milky hue was tarnished through age with large and numerous red spots, and whose mane and tail did not appear to have suffered by the shears during the present reign.  The being who alighted from this antiquated vehicle was tall