Extract: CHAPTER I. Lady Alice and Varbarriere t te- -t te in the Library. "Well, he told you something, did not he?" persisted Lady Alice. "In the sense of a distinct disclosure, nothing," said the Bishop, looking demurely over his horizontal leg on the neatly-shorn grass. "He did speak to me upon subjects-his wishes, and I have no doubt he intended to have been much more explicit. In fact, he intimated as much; but he was overtaken by death-unable to speak when I saw him next morning." "He spoke to you, I know, about pulling down or blowing up that green chamber," said Lady Alice, whose recollections grew a little violent in proportion to the Bishop's reserve and her own impatience. "He did not suggest quite such strong measures, but he did regret that it had ever been built, and made me promise to urge upon his son, as you once before mentioned you were aware, so soon as he should come of age, to shut it up." "And you did urge him?" "Certainly, Lady Alice," said the Bishop, with dignity. "I viewed it in the light of a duty, and a very sacred one, to do so." "He told you the reason, then?" inquired Lady Alice. "He gave me no reason on earth for his wish; perhaps, had he been spared for another day, he would have done so; but he expressed himself strongly indeed, with a kind of horror, and spoke of the Italian who built, and his father who ordered it, in terms of strong disapprobation, and wished frequently it had never been erected. Perhaps you would like to take a little turn. How very pretty the flowers still are "