“A glass of water!” said the passionate Wardle. “Bring a bucket, and throw it all over her; it’ll do her good, and she richly deserves it.”

“Ugh, you brute!” ejaculated the kindhearted landlady. “Poor dear.” And with sundry ejaculations of “Come now, there’s a dear⁠—drink a little of this⁠—it’ll do you good⁠—don’t give way so⁠—there’s a love,” etc. etc. , the landlady, assisted by a chambermaid, proceeded to vinegar the forehead, beat the hands, titillate the nose, and unlace the stays of the spinster aunt, and to administer such other restoratives as are usually applied by compassionate females to ladies who are endeavouring to ferment themselves into hysterics.

“Coach is ready, Sir,” said Sam, appearing at the door.

“Come along,” cried Wardle. “I’ll carry her downstairs.”