CHAPTER SIXTH.
The rude hall rocks--they come, they come,-- The din of voices shakes the dome;-- In stalk the various forms, and, drest In varying morion, varying vest, All march with haughty step--all proudly shake the crest.
Penrose.
If Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone was in no hurry to greet his nephew, of whose arrival he must have been informed for some time, he had important avocations to allege in excuse.

"Had seen thee sooner, lad," he exclaimed, after a rough shake of the hand, and a hearty welcome to Osbaldistone Hall, "but had to see the hounds kennelled first.

Thou art welcome to the Hall, lad--here is thy cousin Percie, thy cousin Thornie, and thy cousin John--your cousin Dick, your cousin Wilfred, and--stay, where's Rashleigh ?--ay, here's Rashleigh--take thy long body aside Thornie, and let's see thy brother a bit--your cousin Rashleigh.

So, thy father has thought on the old Hall, and old Sir Hildebrand at last--better late than never--Thou art welcome, lad, and there's enough.
Where's my little Die ?--ay, here she comes--this is my niece Die, my wife's brother's daughter--the prettiest girl in our dales, be the other who she may--and so now let's to the sirloin."-- To gain some idea of the person who held this language, you must suppose, my dear Tresham, a man aged about sixty, in a hunting suit which had once been richly laced, but whose splendour had been tarnished by many a November and December storm.

Sir Hildebrand, notwithstanding the abruptness of his present manner, had, at one period of his life, known courts and camps; had held a commission in the army which encamped on Hounslow Heath previous to the Revolution--and, recommended perhaps by his religion, had been knighted about the same period by the unfortunate and ill-advised James II.