“I will try. Oh!—oh!—oh!”
“Why, you poor-spirited little goose! Dry your eyes this moment.”
“There. Oh!”
“And kiss me.”
“There. Ah! kissing you is a great comfort.”
“It is one you are particularly welcome to. Now run away and put on your habit. I'll have two grooms out; one with a fresh horse for me, and one to look after you.”
“Oh, Charles! Pray don't make me hunt.”
“No, no. Not so tyrannical as that; hang it all!”
“Do you know what I do while you are hunting? I pray all the time that you may not get a fall and be hurt; and I pray God to forgive you and all the gentlemen for your cruelty in galloping with all those dogs after one poor little inoffensive thing, to hunt it and kill it—kill it twice, indeed; once with terror, and then over again with mangling its poor little body.”
“This is cheerful,” said Sir Charles, rather ruefully. “We cannot all be angels, like you. It is a glorious excitement. There! you are too good for this world; I'll let you off going.”