They are all at prayer at this hour. Figg?" asked Gay. Stimulated by the promise of something handsome to drink, the man acquitted himself to admiration in the management of his lazy cattle. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. "And who is this Van Gal—Gal—what's his outlandish name?" "Van Galgebrok," replied the widow. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. She blushed prettily, and in a moment regained command of her tongue. He now tells her that she is free, no longer a slave. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. She entered quietly and padded up to her shared bedroom. .
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