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" "My courage gave out. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. "Well, Sir Rowland," he said, after a brief pause, during which the knight regarded him with a searching glance, as if endeavouring to recall his features, "I will not gainsay your words. He took her hand in his, raising it closer, and gently touched the maltreated skin. Her arms and feet were uncovered, and of almost skeleton thinness. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat.

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