'I am dead to love and to hope!' said she.
'O ye powers!' cried he, making a blow at his forehead.
'There are many kinds of powers,' said she carelessly: 'perhaps you now mean the powers of impudence, Mr.—I beg pardon—Lord Theodore De Willoughby, I believe.'
'I believe so,' retorted he, 'Mrs.—or rather Lady Hys—Hys—Hys.'—
'Hiss away, my lord!' exclaimed the sensitive girl, and fainted.
Lord Theodore rushed at a bottle that stood on the dresser, and poured half a pint of it into her mouth; but perceiving by the colour that it was not water, he put it to his lips;—it was brandy. In a paroxysm of despair he swallowed the contents; and at the same moment Hysterica woke from her fainting-fit, in a high delirium.
'What have you done to me?' stammered she. 'Oh! I am lost.' 'What!' exclaimed the youth, who had also got a brain-fever; 'after my preserving you in brandy?' 'I am happy to hear it,' lisped she; 'and every thing round me seems to be happy, for every thing round me seems to be dancing!'
Both now began singing, with dreadful facetiousness; he, 'fill the bowl,' and she, 'drink to me only.'
At length they sang themselves asleep.
CHAPTER VI