KENILWORTH - Penn State University

Sir Walter ScottAs he spoke, the door opened, and Master Mumblazen appeared—awithered, thin, elderly gentleman, with a cheek likea winter apple, and his grey hair partly concealed by a small,high hat, shaped like a cone, or rather like such a strawberrybasketas London fruiterers exhibit at their windows. He wastoo sententious a person to waste words on mere salutation;so, having welcomed Tressilian with a nod and a shake of thehand, he beckoned him to follow to Sir Hugh’s great chamber,which the good knight usually inhabited. Will Badgerfollowed, unasked, anxious to see whether his master wouldbe relieved from his state of apathy by the arrival of Tressilian.In a long, low parlour, amply furnished with implementsof the chase, and with silvan trophies, by a massive stone chimney,over which hung a sword and suit of armour somewhatobscured by neglect, sat Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote, a manof large size, which had been only kept within moderate compassby the constant use of violent exercise, It seemed toTressilian that the lethargy, under which his old friend appearedto labour, had, even during his few weeks’ absence,added bulk to his person—at least it had obviously diminishedthe vivacity of his eye, which, as they entered, first followedMaster Mumblazen slowly to a large oaken desk, onwhich a ponderous volume lay open, and then rested, as if inuncertainty, on the stranger who had entered along with him.The curate, a grey-headed clergyman, who had been a confessorin the days of Queen Mary, sat with a book in his hand inanother recess in the apartment. He, too, signed a mournfulgreeting to Tressilian, and laid his book aside, to watch theeffect his appearance should produce on the afflicted old man.As Tressilian, his own eyes filling fast with tears, approachedmore and more nearly to the father of his betrothed bride, SirHugh’s intelligence seemed to revive. He sighed heavily, asone who awakens from a state of stupor; a slight convulsionpassed over his features; he opened his arms without speakinga word, and, as Tressilian threw himself into them, he foldedhim to his bosom.“There is something left to live for yet,” were the first wordshe uttered; and while he spoke, he gave vent to his feelings ina paroxysm of weeping, the tears chasing each other down hissunburnt cheeks and long white beard.“I ne’er thought to have thanked God to see my masterweep,” said Will Badger; “but now I do, though I am like to143