On his right hand, kneeling on their red velvet cushions, were the master and mistress of the household, in their elderly dignified beauty.

On his left, the youthful grace of Anthony and Caterina, in all the striking contrast of their colouring--he, with his exquisite outline and rounded fairness, like an Olympian god; she, dark and tiny, like a gypsy changeling.

Then there were the domestics kneeling on red-covered forms,--the women headed by Mrs.Bellamy, the natty little old housekeeper, in snowy cap and apron, and Mrs.Sharp, my lady's maid, of somewhat vinegar aspect and flaunting attire; the men by Mr.Bellamy the butler, and Mr.Warren, Sir Christopher's venerable valet.
A few collects from the Evening Service was what Mr.Gilfil habitually read, ending with the simple petition, 'Lighten our darkness.' And then they all rose, the servants turning to curtsy and bow as they went out.

The family returned to the drawing-room, said good-night to each other, and dispersed--all to speedy slumber except two.

Caterina only cried herself to sleep after the clock had struck twelve.