"Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. CHAPTER IX. "Take him home, Saunders," said Sir Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "I shall not require you further. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. ‘Or do I arrest you and have these soldiers march you off to gaol?’ A sweep of his arm indicated the array of military strength on the benches, every eye of which was trained on the little scene being enacted before them. So that it seemed to her the whole world had changed —the very light of it had changed. Do you think we could manage that old clothesman between us, if we got out of this box?" "I'd manage him myself, if my arms were free," replied Thames, boldly. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. At least I rather hoped I might spend my time chasing smugglers, which would have afforded some excitement. It is dull—deadly dull.
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