and the well-scoured utensils, and the fine old Dutch clock, and the ancient and amusing ballad, purchased at some neighbouring fair, or of some itinerant bibliopole, and pinned against the wall—all, all were gone!
"John Conyers!" exclaimed Vivian.
There was no answer, nor did the miserable man appear in the slightest degree to be sensible of Vivian's presence.
"My good John Conyers!"
The man raised his head from his resting place, and turned to the spot whence the voice proceeded. There was such an unnatural fire in his eyes, that Vivian's spirit almost quailed. Any one, but Vivian Grey, would have fled the house. His alarm was not decreased when he perceived, that the master of the cottage did not recognize him. The fearful stare was, however, short, and again the sufferer's face was hid.
The wife was advancing, but Vivian waved
