He was thus pretty well primed,
and all promised well, till, within a quarter of a mile of the house, a
vision appeared that filled him and the disguised Nash, to whom he
communicated his fears, with grave apprehensions as to the success of
the plot. It was no less a person than the veteran, Mr. Michael Terry,
out for a Sunday walk with the Grinston man. Their dread increased as
the old man came running forward, crying: "An' it's comin' back yez are,
my darlin' Mish Ceshile. It's a throifle pale yer lookin', an' no
wonder." Saying this, Michael shook hands with Nash, and whispered:
"Niver fare, sorr, Mishter Coristine towld me all about it."
The made-up lady introduced her father's old servant to Wilkinson,
whose apprehensions were dispelled in a similar way, so that all were
prepared to give Mr. Rawdon the reception intended.
"Ullo, hold Favosites Wilkinsonia," cried the working geologist,
swaggering up with a cigar in his mouth, "'ow's yer bloomin' 'ealth?
That hold bloke of a Hirish haint in a 'urry to do the hamiable between
'is hold guvner's gal an' yours truly. My name, Miss, is Rawdon,
Haltamont Rawdon, workin' geologist and minerologist, and, between you
and me and the bedpost, a pretty warm man.
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