So, faintly leaning on the butler's arm, the poor old man (whom a moiety of ten minutes, with its crowding fears, had made to look some ten years older,) proceeded to the square, and knocked up Sir Abraham at midnight, and the admiral came down, half asleep, in dressing-gown and slippers, vexed at having been knocked up from his warm berth so uncomfortably: it put him sorely in remembrance of his hardships as a middy.
"Kind neighbour, thank you, thank you; where's Emmy? take me to my Emmy;" and the iron-hearted veteran wept like a driveller.
Sir Abraham looked at him queerly: and then, in a cheerful, friendly way, replied—
"Dear general, do not be so moved: the girl's quite safe with us; you'll see her to-morrow morning. All's right; she was only frightened, and George has given the fellow a proper good licking: and the girl's a-bed, you know; and, eh? what?"—
For the poor old man, like one bereaved, said, supplicatingly—
"In mercy take me to her—precious child!"
"My dear sir—pray consider—it's impossible; fine girl, you know;—Lady Tamworth, too—can't be, can't be, you know, general."
And the mystified Sir Abraham looked to Saunders for an explanation—
"Was his master drunk?"
"I must speak to her, neighbour; I must, must, and will—dear, dear child: come up with me, sir, come; do not trifle with a breaking heart, neighbour!"