“I do. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. I have been thinking—I will go to my wife again. Do you know that he is very much in love with you?” Anna smiled. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage.
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