Though the noble pile bore many marks of
the arduous conflict it had sustained, its walls (like the family to
which it belonged) still displayed the unyielding superiority of
aristocratic loyalty. But Waverly Hall was a complete ruin. A few of the
meaner offices, and a part of the walls, marked where the residence
stood, which once sheltered crafty selfishness. The park afforded a
temporary asylum to a gang of gipseys, whose cattle grazed unmolested on
the unclaimed demesne, once guarded even from the intrusion of admiring
curiosity, by the secluding jealousy of a cold-hearted worldling, whose
pride counteracted his ostentation, and whose timidity was even greater
than his self-love.
Dr. Beaumont was himself the herald of his own return. His humble
equipage attracted no attention. His first care being to lodge his
family, he sought the house of Dame Humphreys. The streets of the
village were silent and deserted. Neither the loom, the flail, nor the
anvil were heard; not a child was to be seen at play; every thing looked
as if this was a portion of that city where progressive action is
suspended, and the sun hangs level over the ocean without power of
sinking.
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