With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. “It’s not. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. We must never let your father know we went. " "Shall I tell you a real story?" "Something you have seen?" "Yes. "I am going to give you a try. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. ‘That,’ he said stonily, ‘is yet another point over which we fell out.
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