"Another cup of tea, my Angelina?" said Miss Hodges, when she had finished her tirade against her persecutors, that is to say, her friends, "another cup, my Angelina?--do, after your journey and fatigue, take another cup."
"Then reach me that tragedy, Nat--you know--"
"Your own tragedy, is it, my dear?" said he.
"Ah, Nat, now! you never can keep a secret," said Miss Hodges. "I wanted to have surprised my Angelina."
"I am surprised!" thought Angelina--"oh, how much surprised!"
"I have a motto for our cottage here somewhere," said Miss Hodges, turning over the leaves of her tragedy--"but I'll keep that till to-morrow--since to-morrow's the day sacred to love and friendship."
Nat, by way of showing his joy in a becoming manner, rubbed his hands, and hummed a tune. His mistress frowned, and bit her lips; but the signals were lost upon him, and he sung out, in an exulting tone--
"When the lads of the village so merrily, ah! Sound their tabours, I'll hand thee along."
"Fool! Dolt! Idiot!" cried his Araminta, rising furious--"out of my sight!" Then, sinking down upon the chair, she burst into tears, and threw herself into the arms of her pale, astonished Angelina. "Oh, my Angelina!" she exclaimed, "I am the most ill-matched! most unfortunate! most wretched of women!"
"Don't be _frighted_, miss," said Nat; "she'll come _to_ again presently--'tis only _her way_." As he spoke, he poured out a bumper of brandy, and kneeling, presented it to his mistress. "'Tis the only thing in life does her good," continued he, "in this sort of fits."
"Heavens, what a scene!" said Miss Warwick to herself--"and the woman so heavy, I can scarce support her weight--and is this _my unknown friend?_"
How long Miss Hodges would willingly have continued to sob upon Miss Warwick's shoulder, or how long that shoulder could possibly have sustained her weight, is a mixed problem in physics and metaphysics, which must for ever remain unsolved: but suddenly a loud scream was heard. Miss Hodges started up--the door was thrown open, and Betty Williams rushed in, crying loudly--"Oh, shave me! shave me! for the love of Cot, shave me, miss!" and, pushing by the swain, who held the unfinished glass of brandy in his hand, she threw herself on her knees at the feet of Angelina.