And as he spoke, he stretched out his arms imploringly, touching her with his trembling hands. After a moment’s hesitation, she replied:
‘I think I can promise that!’
‘You do? you will?’
‘Well, yes; only let me warn you to treat me civilly. I won’t be insulted, or preached at; remember that.’
So saying, she left the vestry, leaving the miserable clergyman plunged in desolation, and more dead than alive.
CHAPTER XVII.—COUNTERPLOT.
Master L. Good morrow, Mistress Light-o’-Love.
Mistress L. Good morrow, Master Lackland. What’s the news?