If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped.
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