Agreeably to his appointment, Mr. Herbert came to me in the evening. He had been uniformly treated by all my family with the greatest respect; indeed, such was the superiority of manner with which he always conducted himself, that it was impossible for any one to approach him with familiarity. Out of this grew a little ceremony in our treatment of him not observed towards other visiters.

My house, as the courteous reader knows, though good of its kind, was yet but a primitive log tabernacle. It had been enlarged by several additions; and besides a common outer room, which served all the purposes of kitchen, hall, and parlour, contained a bedchamber better than the rest, and which would not have been any disparagement to a more ostentatious edifice. Into this chamber Mr. Herbert, when he came alone, was always shown: it was only when he happened to look in upon us while I was enjoying myself in the midst of my family, that he took a seat in the outer room, requesting that his accidental appearance might not disturb us. But on this occasion he acted differently.

Instead of halting at the door, as he usually did, to speak a word or two with Mrs. Hoskins, or to say something in his mild, facetious way to the girls, he went, without opening his mouth, directly into the inner chamber, although I was sitting opposite to the door when he entered, and entirely disengaged.

“What's the matter with him?” said I to myself, as I rose to follow him.

“Mr. Herbert,” rejoined Mrs. Hoskins, “is strange and discomposed.”

“Is Mr. Herbert here?” said Bailie Waft, opening the door at the same instant and looking in.

“Ye’ll hear tell o’ that by and by,” was the answer he got, and I was on the point of shutting the door in the bodie's impertinent face.