He muttered to himself half audibly: "Good Henry--brave Henry.

Ah! had she but said, dear Henry!" "What liquors be these ?" said the old glover, laughing.

"My cellar holds none such; but if sack, or Rhenish, or wine of Gascony can serve, why, say the word and the flagon foams, that is all." "The kindest thanks," said the armourer, still musing, "that's more than she ever said to me before--the kindest thanks--what may not that stretch to ?" "It shall stretch like kid's leather, man," said the glover, "if thou wilt but be ruled, and say what thou wilt take for thy morning's draught." "Whatever thou wilt, father," answered the armourer, carelessly, and relapsed into the analysis of Catharine's speech to him.

"She spoke of my warm heart; but she also spoke of my reckless hand.

What earthly thing can I do to get rid of this fighting fancy?
Certainly I were best strike my right hand off, and nail it to the door of a church, that it may never do me discredit more." "You have chopped off hands enough for one night," said his friend, setting a flagon of wine on the table.