Comic romance is about us everywhere, alive for the tapping.
A daughter of the Old Buccaneer should participate in it by right of birth: she would expect it in order to feel herself perfectly at home.
Then, be sure, she finds an English tongue and prattles away as merrily as she does when her old scapegrace of a father is the theme.

Son-in-law to him! But the path of wisdom runs in the line of facts, and to have wild fun and romance on this pantomime path, instead of kicking to break away from it, we follow things conceived by the genius of the situation, for the delectation of the fair Countess of Fleetwood and the earl, her delighted husband, quite in the spirit of the Old Buccaneer, father of the bride.
Carinthia sat beside the fire, seeing nothing in the room or on the road.

Up in her bedchamber, the girl Madge was at her window.

She saw Lord Fleetwood standing alone, laughing, it seemed, at some thought; he threw up his head.

Was it a newly married man leaving his bride and laughing?
The bride was a dear lady, fit for better than to be driven to look on at a prize-fight--a terrible scene to a lady.