“I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. ‘He just came. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. The chapel was crowded to excess. ‘Stay, Saling!’ The butler halted, looking round enquiringly. I’m not a lovesick boy.
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