TANCRED entered Sequin Court; a chariot with a foreign coronet was at the foot of the great steps which he ascended. He was received by a fat hall porter, who would not have disgraced his father’s establishment, and who, rising with lazy insolence from his hooded chair, when he observed that Tancred did not advance, asked the new comer what he wanted. ‘I want Monsieur de Sidonia.’ ‘Can’t see him now; he is engaged.’ ‘I have a note for him.’

‘Very well, give it me; it will be sent in. You can sit here.’ And the porter opened the door of a waiting-room, which Tancred declined to enter. ‘I will wait here, thank you,’ said Tancred, and he looked round at the old oak hall, on the walls of which were hung several portraits, and from which ascended one of those noble staircases never found in a modern London mansion. At the end of the hall, on a slab of porphyry, was a marble bust, with this inscription on it, ‘Fundator.’ It was the first Sidonia, by Chantrey.

‘I will wait here, thank you,’ said Tancred, looking round; and then, with some hesitation, he added, ‘I have an appointment here at two o’clock.’

As he spoke, that hour sounded from the belfry of an old city church that was at hand, and then was taken up by the chimes of a large German clock in the hall.

‘It may be,’ said the porter, ‘but I can’t disturb master now; the Spanish ambassador is with him, and others are waiting. When he is gone, a clerk will take in your letter with some others that are here.’

At this moment, and while Tancred remained in the hall, various persons entered, and, without noticing the porter, pursued their way across the apartment.

‘And where are those persons going?’ inquired Tancred.

The porter looked at the enquirer with a blended gaze of curiosity and contempt, and then negligently answered him without looking in Tancred’s face, and while he was brushing up the hearth, ‘Some are going to the counting-house, and some are going to the Bank, I should think.’

‘I wonder if our hall porter is such an infernal bully as Monsieur de Sidonia’s!’ thought Tancred.

There was a stir. ‘The ambassador is coming out,’ said the hall porter; ‘you must not stand in the way.’

The well-trained ear of this guardian of the gate was conversant with every combination of sound which the apartments of Sequin Court could produce. Close as the doors might be shut, you could not rise from your chair without his being aware of it; and in the present instance he was correct. A door at the end of the hall opened, and the Spanish minister came forth.

‘Stand aside,’ said the hall porter to Tancred; and, summoning the servants without, he ushered his excellency with some reverence to his carriage.

‘Now your letter will go in with the others,’ he said to Tancred, whom for a few moments he left alone, and then returned, taking no notice of our young friend, but, depositing his bulky form in his hooded chair, he resumed the city article of the Times.

The letter ran thus:

‘Dear Sidonia: This will be given you by my cousin Montacute, of whom I spoke to you yesterday. He wants to go to Jerusalem, which very much perplexes his family, for he is an only child. I don’t suppose the danger is what they imagine. But still there is nothing like experience, and there is no one who knows so much of these things as yourself. I have promised his father and mother, very innocent people, whom of all my relatives, I most affect, to do what I can for him. If, therefore, you can aid Montacute, you will really serve me. He seems to have character, though I can’t well make him out. I fear I indulged in the hock yesterday, for I feel a twinge. Yours faithfully,

‘ESKDALE.

‘Wednesday morning.’

The hall clock had commenced the quarter chimes, when a young man, fair and intelligent, and wearing spectacles, came into the hall, and, opening the door of the waiting-room, looked as if he expected to find some one there; then, turning to the porter, he said, ‘Where is Lord Montacute?’

The porter rose from his hooded chair, and put down the newspaper, but Tancred had advanced when he heard his name, and bowed, and followed the young man in spectacles, who invited Tancred to accompany him.

Tancred was ushered into a spacious and rather long apartment, panelled with old oak up to the white coved ceiling, which was richly ornamented. Four windows looked upon the fountain and the plane tree. A portrait by Lawrence, evidently of the same individual who had furnished the model to Chantrey, was over the high, old-fashioned, but very handsome marble mantel-piece. A Turkey carpet, curtains of crimson damask, some large tables covered with papers, several easy chairs, against the walls some iron cabinets, these were the furniture of the room, at one corner of which was a glass door, which led to a vista of apartments fitted up as counting-houses, filled with clerks, and which, if expedient, might be covered by a baize screen, which was now unclosed.

A gentleman writing at a table rose as he came in, and extending his hand said, as he pointed to a seat, ‘I am afraid I have made you come out at an unusual hour.’

The young man in spectacles in the meanwhile retired; Tancred had bowed and murmured his compliments: and his host, drawing his chair a little from the table, continued: ‘Lord Eskdale tells me that you have some thoughts of going to Jerusalem.’

‘I have for some time had that intention.’

‘It is a pity that you did not set out earlier in the year, and then you might have been there during the Easter pilgrimage. It is a fine sight.’

‘It is a pity,’ said Tancred; ‘but to reach Jerusalem is with me an object of so much moment, that I shall be content to find myself there at any time, and under any circumstances.’

‘It is no longer difficult to reach Jerusalem; the real difficulty is the one experienced by the crusaders, to know what to do when you have arrived there.’

‘It is the land of inspiration,’ said Tancred, slightly blushing; ‘and when I am there, I would humbly pray that my course may be indicated to me.’

‘And you think that no prayers, however humble, would obtain for you that indication before your departure?’

‘This is not the land of inspiration,’ replied Tancred, timidly.

‘But you have your Church,’ said Sidonia.

‘Which I hold of divine institution, and which should be under the immediate influence of the Holy Spirit,’ said Tancred, dropping his eyes, and colouring still more as he found himself already trespassing on that delicate province of theology which always fascinated him, but which it had been intimated to him by Lord Eskdale that he should avoid.

‘Is it wanting to you, then, in this conjuncture?’ inquired his companion.

‘I find its opinions conflicting, its decrees contradictory, its conduct inconsistent,’ replied Tancred. ‘I have conferred with one who is esteemed its most eminent prelate, and I have left him with a conviction of what I had for some time suspected, that inspiration is not only a divine but a local quality.’

‘You and I have some reason to believe so,’ said Sidonia. ‘I believe that God spoke to Moses on Mount Horeb, and you believe that he was crucified, in the person of Jesus, on Mount Calvary. Both were, at least carnally, children of Israel: they spoke Hebrew to the Hebrews. The prophets were only Hebrews; the apostles were only Hebrews. The churches of Asia, which have vanished, were founded by a native Hebrew; and the church of Rome, which says it shall last for ever, and which converted this island to the faith of Moses and of Christ, vanquishing the Druids, Jupiter Olympius, and Woden, who had successively invaded it, was also founded by a native Hebrew. Therefore, I say, your suspicion or your conviction is, at least, not a fantastic one............