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leaving

him to

hold the

pony, went

into a

long low

parlour

looking

towards

the

street,

from the

window of

which I

caught a

glimpse,

as I went

in, of

Uriah Heep

breathing

into the

pony's

nostrils,

and

immediately

covering

them with

his hand,

as if he

were

putting

some spell

upon him.

Opposite

to the

tall old

chimney-piece

were two

portraits:

one of a

gentleman

with grey

hair

(though

not by any

means an

old man)

and black

eyebrows,

who was