"Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. That'll tune me up. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. I have forgot all about the sword until the capitaine has come. But it is only fair to warn you that it isn’t expected. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. ‘But―but how can he know?’ His soldier’s instinct overtook Gerald and he dropped all his insouciance in a bang, becoming brisk. " "Have it, and welcome," rejoined Figg.
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