“The parson not excepted!” laughed Lady Betty, dancing back lightly over the floor and pinching the girl’s cheek as she passed.
“Oh! that my hero had his throne,
That Erin’s cloud of war were flown,
That proudest prince would own his sway
Over the hills and far away!”
sang my lady, taking dancing steps as she tripped toward her own door; she was full of gayety, incorrigible and delightful as ever, though the great clock on the stairs was striking twelve. But Alice sighed drearily, and her mistress heard her.
“Poor lass!” she laughed, “go to sleep; I am a heartless wretch,” and she ran off laughing to her room, and Alice sank on her pillows again with a sigh of despair.