"Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. 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. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. 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. He paced faster, stomping around. At that, the girl jumped up.
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