ostigan won't have
any thrilling with his daughter."

"No more will his daughter, papa, you may be sure of that," Milly said.
"A little sip more of the punch,--sure, 'tis beautiful. Ye needn't be
afraid about the young chap--I think I'm old enough to take care of
myself, Captain Costigan."

So Pen used to come day after day, rushing in and galloping away, and
growing more wild about the girl with every visit. Sometimes the Captain
was present at their meetings; but having a perfect confidence in
his daughter, he was more often inclined to leave the young couple to
themselves, and cocked his hat over his eye, and strutted off on some
errand when Pen entered. How delightful those interviews were! The
Captain's drawing-room was a low wainscoted room, with a large
window looking into the Dean's garden. There Pen sate and talked--and
talked--Emily, looking beautiful as she sate at her work--looking
beautiful and calm, and the sunshine came streaming in at the great
windows, and lighted up her superb face and form. In the midst of the
conversation, the great bell would begin to boom, and he would pause
smiling, and be silent until the sound of the vast music died away--or
the rooks in the cathedral elms would make a great noise towards
sunset--or the sound of the organ and the choristers would come over the
quiet air, and gently hush Pen's talking.

By the way, it must be said that Miss Fotheringay, in a plain shawl
and a close bonnet and veil, went to church every Sunday of her life,
accompanied by her indefatigable father, who gave the responses in
a very rich and fine brogue, joined in the psalms and chanting, and
behaved in the most exemplary manner.

Little Bows, the house-friend of the family, was exceedingly wroth at
the notion of Miss Fotheringay's marriage with a stripling seven or
eight years her junior. Bows, who was a cripple, and owned that he was a
little more deformed even than Bingley the manager, so that he could
not appear on the stage, was a singular wild man of no small talents and
humour. Attracted first by Miss Fotheringay's beauty, he began to teach
her how to act. He shrieked out in his cracked voice the parts, and his
pupil learned them from his lips by rote, and repeated them in her
full rich tones. He indicated the attitudes, and set and moved those
beautiful arms of hers. Those who remember this grand actress on the
stage can recall how she used always precisely the same gestures, looks,
and t