Others threw themselves into their friends' arms.
"They're all mad, every mother's son of them!" said Maurice Quill, as he elbowed his way through the mass; "and here's an old vestal won't leave my arm.

She has already embraced me three times, and we've finished a flask of Malaga between us." "Come, O'Malley, are you ready for the road ?" My horse was by this time standing saddled at the front.

I sprang at once to the saddle, and without waiting for a second order, set out for Lisbon.
Ten minutes had scarce elapsed,--the very shouts of joy of the delighted city were still ringing in my ears,--when I was once again back at the villa.

As I mounted the steps into the hall, a carriage drew up,--it was Sir George Dashwood's.

He came forward, his daughter leaning upon his arm.
"Why, O'Malley, I thought you had gone." "I have returned, Sir George.