"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. . “No,” she said at last; “I’m a human being—not a timid female. Never mind, I’ve got plenty. But oh, how weary I am! I know. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. Divers plans and figures were chalked upon the walls; and the spaces between them were filled up with an almanack for the year; a godly ballad, adorned with a rude wood-cut, purporting to be "The History of Chaste Susannah;" an old print of the Seven Golden Candlesticks; an abstract of the various Acts of Parliament against drinking, swearing, and all manner of profaneness; and a view of the interior of Doctor Daniel Burgess's Presbyterian meeting-house in Russell Court, with portraits of the reverend gentleman and the principal members of his flock. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. "I do not see him. I’ve got no feminine class feeling. Such a mystery as you have set up.
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