on of his
sons? Where that Fabricius, that turned up his nose under the snout of an
elephant? Where was that Marcus Brutus, who sent his dagger to the heart
of Caesar? For her part, she believed, and she would not give the snap of
her fingers for him if it were otherwise, that he was in reality, as sage
historians have reported, the son of Julius."

In the very paroxysm of her oratory she chanced to cast her eyes upon Mr.
Prattle. With the character of Mr. Prattle, the reader is already partly
acquainted. But he does not yet know, for it was not necessary for our
story he should do so, that the honourable Mr. Prattle was a commoner and
a placeman. Good God, sir, represent to yourself with what a flame of
indignation our amazon surveyed him! She rose from her seat, and, taking
him by the hand, very familiarly turned him round in the middle of the
company. "This," said she, "is one of our Fabiuses, one of our Decii.
Good God, my friend, what would you do, if a brother officer shook a cane
over your shoulders as he did over those of the divine Themistocles? What
would you do, if the brutal lull of an Appius ravished from your arms an
only daughter? But I beg your pardon, sir. You are a placeman, mutually
disgracing and disgraced. You sell your constituents to the vilest
ministers, that ever came forward the champions of despotism. And those
ministers show us what is their insignificance, their impotence, their
want of discernment, in giving such a thing as you are, places of so great
importance, offices of so high emolument."

Mr. Prattle, unused to be treated so cavalierly, and arraigned before so
large a company, trembled in every limb: "My dear madam, my sweet Miss
Sophia, pray do not pinch quite so hard;" and the water stood in his eyes.
Unable however to elude her grasp he fell down upon his knees. "For God's
sake! Oh dear! Oh lack a daisy! Why, Miss, sure you are mad." Miss
Cranley, unheedful of his exclamations, was however just going to begin
with more vehemence than ever, when a sudden accident put a stop to the
torrent of her oratory. But this event cannot be properly related without
going back a little in our narrative, and acquainting the reader with some
of those circumstances by which it was produced.

CHAPTER VI.

_A Catastrophe_.

Sir William Twyford had gained great credit with lord Martin by his
conduct in the affair of Mr. Prettyman. He now imagined that he saw an
opening for the exercise of