CHAPTER XXIX.

The Silver Coffer.

Within Sir Giles Mompesson’s vast and gloomy mansion, it has been said there were certain rooms which, from their size and splendour, formed a striking contrast to the rest of the habitation.  Never used,—­except on extraordinary occasions, when their owner gave a grand entertainment with some ulterior object,—­these apartments, notwithstanding their magnificence, partook in some degree of the chilling and inhospitable character of the house.  Even when brilliantly lighted up, they wanted warmth and comfort; and though the banquets given within them were sumptuous and profuse, and the wine flowed without stint, the guests went away dissatisfied, and railing against their ostentatious host.  Thus, though the stone walls were hung with rich tapestry, the dust had gathered thickly upon its folds, while portions of the rugged masonry were revealed to view.  The furniture was massive, but cumbrous and ill-assorted; and the gilded ceiling and Venetian mirrors, from want of care, had become tarnished and dim.

Such as they were, however, these apartments were assigned to Aveline, when she was forcibly brought to the extortioner’s habitation, as before narrated.  Allowed to range within them at pleasure, she was kept strictly within their limits.  The doors were constantly guarded by one or other of the myrmidons; and any communication with the external world was impossible, because the windows were partially grated, and looked into a court-yard.  Beyond this, she was subjected to no restraint; and her own attendants, Dame Sherborne and old Anthony Rocke, were suffered to remain with her.

Had it not been for her exposure to the annoyance of frequent from Sir Francis Mitchell, and her anxiety about Sir Jocelyn, Aveline would not have found her confinement so intolerable.  But the enamoured old usurer persecuted her at all hours, and she could never be free from the intrusion, since the doors could not be shut against him.  Sometimes, he came accompanied by his partner, though more frequently alone, but ever with the same purpose,—­namely, that of protesting the violence of his passion, and seeking to soften her obduracy.  As may be well supposed, his pleadings, however urged, were wholly ineffectual, and excited no other feelings, except those of detestation, in her bosom.  Such a state of things could not endure for ever; and her only hope was, that finding all his efforts to move her fruitless, he would in time desist from them.  Not that she was without other fearful apprehensions, which were shared by her attendants.