At the Bun-house were congregated many Londoners, who had come out to the country to enjoy this rare day. Sedan-chairs, coaches and horses held by pages in brilliant livery, formed a picturesque group; while dogs barked joyously amidst the crowd. The porters and grooms were grouped about a juggler, who aroused their merriment with his tricks, or smoked their pipes beneath the ample, pillared veranda of the house. Within doors some were admiring the silver pitcher presented to Mistress Hand by Queen Charlotte, or the two leaden grenadiers, with their German shakos in sugar candy, and uniforms of 1745; while others, seated about a grass plot beneath elm-trees trained into the shape of vaulted arches, sipped a dish of tea with one of those famous smoking, piping hot buns as its accompaniment. These delicate, savory confections had made the reputation of the house. The remaining few had formed a circle about Rahab, the fortune-teller. Perceiving Frank and Esther among her audience, she impudently exclaimed,-- [Illustration] "Ask that pair if I do not tell the truth! It was I who predicted their happiness." "You!" said Esther, amazed at her audacity. "Do you pretend that you predicted to me--" "I told you that you would marry Lord Mowbray. Have I deceived you?" Esther smiled and blushed. "Give her a trifle," she said to her husband. And while the young nobleman emptied his purse into the gypsy's hands, Garrick's pupil murmured these verses of her favorite poet,-- "All yet seems well; and if it end so meet, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet."