He was still pursuing after his mistress, and had nearly reached the park-gate, when his ear was saluted by a piercing scream from behind, and the voice of Miss Falconer, which he instantly recognised, calling for help. He ran back, and discovered her struggling in the arms of Monsieur Tiqueraque, who was bearing her along at a great pace, and all the time uttering, with a volubility not a little inflamed by his frequent visits to the bottle, in which he had quite distinguished himself, a thousand exhortations to the lady to be pacified, with as many eccentric commendations of her beauty and his own good qualities.
"Tuchou! taisez vous, ou-at de deb'l! mon ange, ma petite, ma maîtresse, avec les yeux noirs d'un diablotin!" he heard him cry, "ou-y for you fear? comment diantre, ou-y for you squeak? You are the mos' fine leddee of all, and I am the mos' excellent jentlemans, and I s'all love you, begar, mos' extremely. Fi donc! you mus' know, I am jentlemans in disguise, and have you love 'is sis mon's, and s'all make you very good lovare. O ciel, begar, I do so sink you ver' beaut'ful, and I s'all give you on' douzaine kiss extreme fine, mon dieu, if you s'all no squeak no more."
"What, Sterling, are you mad!" cried Hyland, seizing this incorrigible adventurer and exemplary wooer by the arm. "Release the lady instantly—you have made a mistake."
"Diablezot! none in the world," said the man of many coats, changing character with the facility of an 'old stager.'—The sudden transformation operated even more effectually than the voice of the detested Gilbert, in frightening Miss Falconer into silence. "And harkee, Mr. Lieutenant Hawk," he went on, with great equanimity, "stick to your own prizes,—follow your own Blowselinda."
"Rogue, do you resist me?—Come, sir, you have been drinking!"
"Drinking in your teeth!" said Sterling, in whom 'the good familiar creature' had the effect of rather sharpening than changing any of his characteristics. "'Back and syde, go bare, go bare,'" as old Gummer Gurton says:
| 'Now let them drynke till they nod and winke, Even as good felowes shoulde doe; They shall not mysse to have the blisse Good ale doth bringe men to.' |
"But 'this is my right hand, and this is my left'; what more would you have? Do you think I am to be kept on your cursed Adam's ale of the mountains for ever? 'Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?' And finally, Mr. Lieutenant Chicken-hawk, dost thou opine thou shalt have thy bottle and thy wench, and I"——
"In a word, scoundrel," said Hyland, clapping a pistol to his head, and thus bringing the madman to his senses, "unhand the lady, or I will blow your brains out."
"Zounds, sir,"——