"
This strange creature cautiously opened the door, and was speedily
engulfed in all that fearful accumulation of sloth and disorder. By his
manner, it did not seem to be his first irruption into this vast
magazine; whilst, from the cautious and fearful glances he from time to
time cast through the door, it would appear that he had been detected in
his expeditions, and in all probability punished for the offence. He was
evidently in search of some object from amidst the various heaps of
lumber he overthrew; an inarticulate mutter, accompanying every fresh
attack, indicated impatience and disappointment. Suddenly he exclaimed,
drawing forth a large roll, with ludicrous expressions of delight--
"I have thee, now! The buck's horns shall soon butt this great Welsh
goat from his pen."
He opened the banner. It was the pennon of the Bradshaigh, thrown aside
to rot in dust and decay.
"Don't tell Dan, nuncle, and thou shall see rare sport."
He said this with his usual familiarity of tone; but suddenly putting
his mouth to the stranger's ear, he whispered. The words were inaudible,
save to him for whom they were meant; and in an instant he darted from
the spot, concealing the spoil amidst the folds of his apparel.
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