"You can't think how I love Lady Cicely!" exclaimed Titmouse, in a broken voice.
"Ay—but would she love you, if she knew who and what you were?"
"Oh Lord! oh Lord! I love Lady Cicely! I love Lady Cicely!"
"Then get pen, ink, and paper, if you would not lose her forever!"
"Here they are, Mr. Gammon!" exclaimed Titmouse, hastily stepping to his desk which lay on the table; and with tremulous eagerness he got out a quire of writing-paper and took a pen. "Suppose you write, Mr. Gammon," said he, suddenly—"my hand trembles so! Lord! I feel so sick, I'll sign anything you like!"
"Perhaps it would be better," replied Gammon, sitting down, and dipping his pen into the inkstand; "it may save time." He commenced writing; and, as he went on, said at intervals—"Yes, Titmouse! Thank God, all is now over! It shall no longer be in Lord Dreddlington's power—no, nor any one's—to beggar you—to transport you—to take your noble wife from you"——
"Oh, no, no! You know Lady Cicely's taken me for better for worse, for richer for poorer!" interrupted Titmouse, in a sort of agony of apprehension.
"Ah, Titmouse! But she did not know, when she said that, that she was speaking to a"——
"What! wouldn't it have held good?" exclaimed Titmouse, perfectly aghast.