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"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. ’ ‘Then you will die at the hands of the canaille. " "They're lifting her out of the carriage," interposed Charcam; "will it please your honour to send for some advice and the chaplain?" "Fly for both," returned Sir Rowland, in a tone of bitter anguish. Never was heard such a bawling as these unfortunate wights kept up. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter.
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