CHAPTER XI.

IN WHICH UNFORTUNATE LOVE MEDITATES REVENGE.

At half-past ten on the following morning, at which time Mr. Schnackenberger first unclosed his eyes, behold! at the foot of his bed was sitting my hostess of the Golden Sow. 'Aye,' said she, 'I think it's time, Sir: and it's time, I think, to let you know what it is to affront a creditable body before all the world.'

'Nay, for God's sake, old one, what's the matter?' said Mr. Schnackenberger, laughing and sitting bolt upright in bed.

'Old? Well, if I have a few more years on my head, I've a little more thought _in_ it: but, perhaps, you're not altogether so thoughtless as I've been fancying in your actings towards me poor unfortunate widow: if that's the case, you are a base wicked man; and you deserve--'

'Why, woman, how now? Has a tarantula bit you; or what is it? Speak.'

'Speak! Aye, I'll speak; and all the world shall hear me. First of all come you riding into my bar like a crazy man: and I, good easy creature, let myself be wheedled, carry you meat--drink--everything--with my own hands; sit by your side; keep you in talk the whole evening, for fear you should be tired; and, what was my reward? "March," says you, "old witch." Well, that passed on. At midnight I am called out of my bed--for your sake: and the end of that job is, that along of you the Sow is half burned down. But for all that, I say never an ill word to you. I open the late Mr. Sweetbread's clothes-presses to you: his poor innocent wedding-shirt you don over your great shameless body; go off; leave me behind with a masterful dog, that takes a roast leg of mutton from off the spit; and, when he should have been beat for it, runs off with it into the street. You come back with the beast. Not to offend you, I say never a word of what he has done. Off you go again: well: scarce is your back turned, when the filthy carrion begins running my rabbits up and down the yard; eats up all that he can catch; and never a one would have been left to tell the tale, if the great giantical hostler (him as blacked your shoes) hadn't ha' cudgelled him off. And after all this, there are you hopping away at the ball wi' some painted doll--looking babies in her eyes--quite forgetting me that has to sit up for you at home pining and grieving: and all isn't enough, but at last you must trot off to another inn.'

'What then,' said Mr. Schnackenberger, 'is it fact that I'm not at the Golden Sow?'

'Charming!' said Mrs. Sweetbread; 'and so you would make believe you don't know it; but I shall match you, or find them as will: rest you sure of _that_.'

'Children!' said Mr. Schnackenberger to the waiter and boots, who were listening in astonishment with the door half-open; 'of all loves, rid me of this monster.'

'Aye, what!' said she in a voice of wrath; and put herself on the defensive. But a word or two of abuse against the landlord of the Double-barrelled Gun, which escaped her in her heat, irritated the men to that degree, that in a few moments afterwards Mrs. Sweetbread was venting her wrath in the street--to the wonder of all passers-by, who looked after her until she vanished into the house of a well-known attorney.

Meantime, Mr. Schnackenberger, having on inquiry learned from the waiter in what manner he had come to the inn--and the night-scene which had followed, was apologizing to the owner of No. 5,--when, to his great alarm the church clock struck eleven. 'Nine,' he remembered, was the hour fixed by the billet: and the more offence he might have given to the princess by his absurdities over-night, of which he had some obscure recollection, so much the more necessary was it that he should keep the appointment. The botanic garden was two miles off: so, shutting up Juno, he ordered a horse: and in default of boots, which, alas! existed no longer in that shape, he mounted in silk stockings and pumps; and rode off at a hand gallop.