There was something in this proposal agreeable to all parties.  Sir Henry had family pride, which prepared him to take an interest in whatever related to his ancestors.  The ladies had dipped deeply into the fashionable reading of the present day.  Lady Ratcliff and her fair daughters had climbed every pass, viewed every pine-shrouded ruin, heard every groan, and lifted every trap-door in company with the noted heroine of Udolpho.  They had been heard, however, to observe that the famous incident of the Black Veil singularly resembled the ancient apologue of the mountain in labour, so that they were unquestionably critics as well as admirers.  Besides all this, they had valorously mounted en croupe behind the ghostly horseman of Prague, through all his seven translators, and followed the footsteps of Moor through the forest of Bohemia.  Moreover, it was even hinted (but this was a greater mystery than all the rest) that a certain performance called the ‘Monk,’ in three neat volumes, had been seen by a prying eye in the right hand drawer of the Indian cabinet of Lady Ratcliff’s dressing-room.  Thus predisposed for wonders and signs, Lady Ratcliff and her nymphs drew their chairs round a large blazing wood-fire and arranged themselves to listen to the tale.  To that fire I also approached, moved thereunto partly by the inclemency of the season, and partly that my deafness, which you know, cousin, I acquired during my campaign under Prince Charles Edward, might be no obstacle to the gratification of my curiosity, which was awakened by what had any reference to the fate of such faithful followers of royalty as you well know the house of Ratcliff have ever been.  To this wood-fire the Vicar likewise drew near, and reclined himself conveniently in his chair, seemingly disposed to testify his disrespect for the narration and narrator by falling asleep as soon as he conveniently could.  By the side of Maxwell (by the way, I cannot learn that he is in the least related to the Nithsdale family) was placed a small table and a couple of lights, by the assistance of which he read as follows:—­

’Journal of Jan Van Eulen

’On the 6th November 1645, I, Jan Van Eulen, merchant in Rotterdam, embarked with my only daughter on board of the good vessel Vryheid of Amsterdam, in order to pass into the unhappy and disturbed kingdom of England. 7th November—­a brisk gale—­ daughter sea-sick—­myself unable to complete the calculation which I have begun of the inheritance left by Jane Lansache of Carlisle, my late dear wife’s sister, the collection of which is the object of my voyage. 8th November—­wind still stormy and adverse—­a horrid disaster nearly happened—­my dear child washed overboard as the vessel lurched to leeward.  Memorandum—­to reward the young sailor who saved her out of the first moneys which I can recover from the inheritance of her aunt Lansache. 9th November—­calm—­ P.M. light breezes from N. N. W. I talked with the captain about the inheritance of my sister-in-law,