“It shall be ordered at the bar, sir,” says Cobbs; and away he went.

Boots has the feeling as fresh upon him at this minute of speaking as he had then, that he would far rather have had it out in half-a-dozen rounds with the Governor than have combined with him; and that he wished with all his heart there was any impossible place where those two babies could make an impossible marriage, and live impossibly happy ever afterwards.  However, as it couldn’t be, he went into the Governor’s plans, and the Governor set off for York in half an hour.

The way in which the women of that house—­without exception—­every one of ’em—­married and single—­took to that boy when they heard the story, Boots considers surprising.  It was as much as he could do to keep ’em from dashing into the room and kissing him.  They climbed up all sorts of places, at the risk of their lives, to look at him through a pane of glass.  They was seven deep at the keyhole.  They was out of their minds about him and his bold spirit.

In the evening, Boots went into the room to see how the runaway couple was getting on.  The gentleman was on the window-seat, supporting the lady in his arms.  She had tears upon her face, and was lying, very tired and half asleep, with her head upon his shoulder.

“Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, fatigued, sir?” says Cobbs.

“Yes, she is tired, Cobbs; but she is not used to be away from home, and she has been in low spirits again.  Cobbs, do you think you could bring a biffin, please?”

“I ask your pardon, sir,” says Cobbs.  “What was it you—?”

“I think a Norfolk biffin would rouse her, Cobbs.  She is very fond of them.”

Boots withdrew in search of the required restorative, and when he brought it in, the gentleman handed it to the lady, and fed her with a spoon, and took a little himself; the lady being heavy with sleep, and rather cross.  “What should you think, sir,” says Cobbs, “of a chamber candlestick?” The gentleman approved; the chambermaid went first, up the great staircase; the lady, in her sky-blue mantle, followed, gallantly escorted by the gentleman; the gentleman embraced her at her door, and retired to his own apartment, where Boots softly locked him up.

Boots couldn’t but feel with increased acuteness what a base deceiver he was, when they consulted him at breakfast (they had ordered sweet milk-and-water, and toast and currant jelly, overnight) about the pony.  It really was as much as he could do, he don’t mind confessing to me, to look them two young things in the face, and think what a wicked old father of lies he had grown up to be.  Howsomever, he went on a lying like a Trojan about the pony.  He told ’em that it did so unfortunately happen that the pony was half clipped, you see, and that he couldn’t be taken out in that state, for fear it should strike to his inside.  But that he’d be finished clipping in the course of the day, and