Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. \"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. ” But after that neither ideas nor phrases had come and she had fallen thinking of the events of the day. . “It is intolerable that you should be followed about by such a creature. They are rather a long way off, but you could write to them. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. ” He beamed over the effect of this and shook hands with effusion, and Lady Palsworthy suddenly appeared as his confederate and disentangled the vicar’s aunt. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains.
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