"Pull," says he.

"'Gad, pull indeed!", The beast gave a spring and came slap on my chest, with his dirty wet muzzle on my neck! I felt instantly it was the death of my frill, but gallant as you know me, I still asked for the lady.

"If you will please, or an it meet your favour, to extend your hand to me!" I confess I did think it rather odd, the idea of a lady coming in that way over the palings! but my curst love of adventure always blinds me.

It always misleads my better sense, Harrington.

Well, instead of a lady, I see a fellow--he may have been a lineal descendant of Cedric the Saxon.