ts, is in waiting,
for in the end it must be some mad princess, who----Heaven deliver me
with speed from this strange torture, and keep me in my right senses,
such as they are!

Mr. Tyss did not suspect that all, which had yet happened, was only the
prologue to a most wonderful adventure, and had therefore, without
knowing it, done exceedingly well in praying to Heaven for the
preservation of his senses.

No sooner had the couple reached the bottom of the stairs, than the
door was opened by invisible hands, and, when they had got out, was
shut again in the same manner. Peregrine, however, paid no attention to
this, in his astonishment at finding not the slightest appearance of
any carriage before the house, or of any servant in waiting.--"In the
name of Heaven," he cried, "where is your coach, lady?"

"Coach!" replied the stranger--"Coach! what coach? Did you think, dear
Peregrine, that my impatience, my anxiety, to find you, would allow me
to come riding here quite quietly? No; hurried on by hope and desire, I
ran about through the storm till I found you. Thank Heaven that I have
succeeded! And now lead me home; my house is not far off."

Peregrine resolutely avoided all reflection on the impossibility of the
stranger going a few steps only, tricked out as she was, and in white
silk shoes, without spoiling her whole dress in the storm, instead of
being, as now, in a state that showed not the slightest trace of
discomposure; he reconciled himself to the idea of accompanying her
still farther, and was only glad that the weather was changed. The
storm, indeed, had past, not a cloud was in the heaven, the full moon
shone down pleasantly, and only the keen air made the midnight to be
felt.

Scarcely had they gone a few steps, when the maiden began to complain
softly, and soon burst out into loud lamentations, that she was
freezing with the cold. Peregrine, whose blood glowed through his
veins, who had therefore been insensible to the weather, and never
thought of her being so lightly clad, without even a shawl or a tucker,
now on a sudden saw his folly, and would have wrapt her in his cloak.
This, however, she rejected, exclaiming piteously, "No, my dear
Peregrine, that avails me nothing: my feet!--Ah, my feet! I shall die
with the dreadful agony."

And she was about to drop, half senseless, as she cried out with a
faint voice, "Carry me, carry me, my sweet friend!"

Without more ado, Peregrine took up the light li