'Brisk enough when he is awake,' said the guest.
'Brisk enough, sir!' replied John, looking at the place where the horse
had been, as if not yet understanding quite, what had become of him. 'He
melts, I think. He goes like a drop of froth. You look at him, and there
he is. You look at him again, and--there he isn't.'
Having, in the absence of any more words, put this sudden climax to what
he had faintly intended should be a long explanation of the whole life
and character of his man, the oracular John Willet led the gentleman up
his wide dismantled staircase into the Maypole's best apartment.
It was spacious enough in all conscience, occupying the whole depth of
the house, and having at either end a great bay window, as large as many
modern rooms; in which some few panes of stained glass, emblazoned
with fragments of armorial bearings, though cracked, and patched, and
shattered, yet remained; attesting, by their presence, that the former
owner had made the very light subservient to his state, and pressed the
sun itself into his list of flatterers; bidding it, when it shone into
his chamber, reflect the badges of his ancient family, and take new hues
and colours from their pride.
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