" "Pshaw!" cried Thames. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor. "You poor child!" said Prudence. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness.
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