I slumbered away two hours, dreaming of Charleys’ lanterns, poles, and stolen kisses, until my “man tapped at the door” with a carpetbag containing a full equipment. Indeed, it was fortunate for me that Mr. Pryme had sent for my servant and a refit; for the formal habiliments in which I had masqueraded on the preceding evening now cut a sorry figure, as John examined them one by one. The coat was changed into a spencer; for, in the melée, body and skirts had parted company,—while that garment, politely termed unmentionable, exhibited so many compound fractures, that the tailor would have been a daring artist who would have undertaken the repairs. Having completed my toilet, my valet took his departure, just as the quaker’s butler announced that the ladies were waiting for me in the parlour.
[Original]
When the summons to the breakfast-table was delivered, I felt it a first draft upon the assurance of a bashful Irishman, and I would have freely sacrificed a month’s pay, to have been permitted to slip off without any flourish of trumpets. It was bad enough to face my worthy mentor,—him, to whom especially both my morality and expenditure had been consigned. But it was the quaker’s womankind whom I had most cause to dread—ladies swindled out of a kiss under false pretences,—how the deuce was I to encounter the chaste indignation, which the recollection of that felonious accolade would assuredly call forth? My foot stuck to the last step of the staircase, as if it had been glued there; and there I stood, in the comfortable position of a person who is ashamed to retreat, and afraid to go forward. The chief butler, however, brought matters to a crisis. Emerging from the lower regions by a back stair, he entered the breakfast-room, and I had the satisfaction to hear him announce, in a voice intended only to be audible to those within, that “the drunken gentleman was in the hall,” accompanied with a-running-commentary of, “What impudence some people have!”
The remark, under existing circumstances, was not an encouraging one; and it would have afforded me unspeakable delight to have seen Mr. Costigan under the bastinado. Yet nothing, indeed, but that quality which it was insinuated I possessed extensively, would bear me through; and, after invoking the powers of impudence, in I desperately ventured.
But to my offendings mercy had been extended. Had I been an expected visitor, Mr. Pryme’s reception could not have been kinder,—and his stiff helpmate inquired, “Had I rested well?” Rachael,—oh! how that plain peaked muslin, which vainly strove to hide a profusion of auburn hair, became her! She, sweet girl, bade me a timid good-morrow, and then, blushing to the very brows, dropped her dovelike eyes upon the table-cloth. All this was passing strange—strange that the felonious invasion of a quiet domicile at midnight should elicit no objection—and, stranger still—the kiss of peace appeared to have totally escaped the memories of all parties save myself, implicated in the transaction!
Breakfast ended—the old lady withdrew—and Mr. Pryme asked me to walk with him to his counting-house. Requesting leave of absence for ten minutes to arrange some domestic matters before he should leave home, the quaker retired from the parlour, and Rachael and I were left to entertain each other as we best could.
For a short time our mutual position was embarrassing. I did not know exactly what to say; and the fair puritan maintained a solemn silence, with her sparkling eyes fixed steadily upon the carpet. It was quite apparent that I was expected to lead off; and, after an awkward pause, the ice at last was broken.
“Miss Pryme”—I commenced.