'
'Poor old man,' whispered Mary; 'pray let us humour him.'
It was the usual madman's fancy, no doubt. Boundless wealth, exalted
rank, sanctity, power--these things all belong to the lunatic. He is the
lord of creation, and, fed by such fancies, he enjoys flashes of wild
happiness in the midst of his woe.
'Come, come, both of you,' said the old man, eagerly, breathless with
impatience.
He led the way across the sacred threshold, looking back, beckoning to
them with his wasted old hand, and Mary for the first time in her life
entered that house which had seemed to her from her very childhood as a
temple of silence and mystery. The passage was dimly lighted by a little
lamp on a bracket. The old man crept along stealthily, looking back,
with a face full of cunning, till he came to a broad landing, from which
an old staircase, with massive oak banisters, led down to the square
hall below. The ceilings were low, the passages were narrow. All things
in the house were curiously different from that spacious mansion which
Lady Maulevrier had built for herself.
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