men of our stamp equal to bonny Old England! It rains nobles, by
Heaven--they lie on the grass as thick as dewdrops--you may have them
for gathering. And if I have not my share of such glittering dewdrops,
may my sword melt like an icicle!"



CHAPTER V.

He was a man
Versed in the world as pilot in his compass.
The needle pointed ever to that interest
Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails
With vantage to the gale of others' passion.
--THE DECEIVER, A TRAGEDY.

Antony Foster was still engaged in debate with his fair guest, who
treated with scorn every entreaty and request that she would retire to
her own apartment, when a whistle was heard at the entrance-door of the
mansion.

"We are fairly sped now," said Foster; "yonder is thy lord's signal, and
what to say about the disorder which has happened in this household,
by my conscience, I know not. Some evil fortune dogs the heels of that
unhanged rogue Lambourne, and he has 'scaped the gallows against every
chance, to come back and be the ruin of me!"

"Peace, sir," said the lady, "and undo the gate to your master.--My
lord! my dear lord!" she then exclaimed, hastening to the entrance of
the apartment; then added, with a voice expressive of disappointment,