168 < 20 > HISTORY OF AN ABDUCTION She had not seen him for hundreds of years. She read for half an hour, then closed the book because Spurlock appeared to have fallen asleep. "Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination. If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head. .
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