“I’m just of the same opinion, captain,” returned Mr. Curtis. “And now where shall we put up for the night?”
“Be the power-rs! and we’ve cash in our pockets—aad it’s afther pathronising some tavern we’ll be until the morning, whin we’ll take fresh lodgings,” exclaimed the gallant gentleman, his naturally good spirits reviving, as he found himself safe in Aldersgate Street, and no suspicious-looking characters dodging him in the rear.
CHAPTER CLI.
THE CALM.—THE TEMPEST.
Return we now to Charles Hatfield and Perdita.
The gorgeous lustre of a Parisian summer morning streamed through the muslin curtains of a handsome chamber in the hotel at which they had taken up their abode: and the glory of that sun-light shone upon the nuptial couch, where the newly-wedded pair still slept.
The night of bliss had passed; and, wearied with love’s dalliance, they had fallen into a deep slumber, the dreams of which were soft and voluptuous, and gave no forewarning of a coming storm.
The long, luxuriant, deep brown hair of Perdita flowed over the snowy whiteness of the pillow; and the dark, thick, slightly curling fringes of the closed eye-lids reposed on cheeks flashed with the ecstatic nature of her visions.
A gentle smile played upon her moist lips of richest red,—a smile that subdued the expression of resoluteness which her countenance was wont to wear, and gave an indescribable charm of serenity and sweetness to features usually indicative of such strong passions and such fierce desires.
But those passions were now lulled to rest: those desires were for the time assuaged;—and happiness filled the soul of the sleeping woman.
One fine, white, and robust arm lay outside the coverlid: the other supported the head, or rather half embraced the neck of her young and handsome husband.