OUR HONEYMOON.
TUESDAY—MAY 28, 18—,
Shall I ever forget the day? As it comes round—if I'm spared for fifty years—I'm sure I shall always feel a chill, a pang at the thoughts of it. That dear, foolish creature, Fred! As if being shot could make it any better! And then the thought—the horrid thought would press itself—piercing like a dagger—to be sent into weeds in one's very Honeymoon!
Of course, the whole house was raised. When Josephine heard me scream, and came to the bedroom door, and found it locked, and couldn't make me sensible to open it—for I'd the key in my hand, and so had dropt it on the floor when I fell myself in a swoon—
Of course, when Josephine could make nobody hear, she very soon raised the house, and there were chambermaids and waiters at the door, and they were breaking it open, when I came enough to myself to prevent it!
"It's all right, Ma'am," said Josephine. "Master's safe: not a whit the worse, depend on't."
"Safe! Are you sure?"—
"Certain, Ma'am. 'Cause the landlord has given information to the constables, and no doubt on it, he says, they'll all be in custody afore they can shoot one another."
"Shoot!" Well—- for the moment—I did hate the creature as she spoke the word; speaking it with all the coolness in life—death, I might say.