As they took their candles, and went up stairs, the parties continued the battle: Mrs. Bolingbroke brought quotations innumerable to her aid, and in a shrill tone repeated,
“‘He might not let even the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly.’
——“‘pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not.’
“‘And let her down the wind to prey at fortune.’
“‘Blow, thou winter’s wind,
Thou art not so unkind.’
“‘Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow.’”
Her voice was raised to the highest pitch: it was in vain that her husband repeated that he acknowledged the word should be called as she pronounced it in poetry; she reiterated her quotations and her assertions till at last she knew not what she said; her sense failed the more her anger increased. At length Mr. Bolingbroke yielded. Noise conquers sometimes where art fails.
“Thus,” said he, “the hawk that could not be hoodwinked, was at last tamed, by being exposed to the din of a blacksmith’s hammer.”
Griselda was incensed by this remark, and still more by the allusion, which she called the second edition of the vampire-bat. Both husband and wife went to sleep mutually displeased, and more disgusted with each other than they had ever been since their marriage: and all this for the pronunciation of a word!
Early in the morning they were wakened by a messenger, who brought an express, informing Mr. Bolingbroke that his uncle was not expected to live, and that he wished to see him immediately. Mr. Bolingbroke rose instantly; all the time that he was dressing, and preparing in the greatest hurry for his journey, Griselda tormented him by disputing about the propriety of his going, and ended with, “Promise me to write every post, my dear; positively you must.”
CHAPTER XIII.
“He sighs for freedom, she for power.”