Emily rose and followed Muriel, who left the room for her bonnet. “Come, Charles,” said Mrs. Eastman, moving to the door; “come down-stairs, and I’ll give you something to eat. Little men like you are always ready for pie.” Tugmutton, with the prospect of pie in his delighted vision, flashed into a huge grin, which displayed all his ivories, and lit his blobber-grey face; and checking the impulse which prompted him to execute a shuffling breakdown on the spot, he dodged out at the door after Mrs. Eastman. CHAPTER VI. AN EPISODE OF THE REIGN OF TERROR. In a few minutes the two young ladies, cloaked and bonneted, came out into the sunlit street, where stood the carriage, which Patrick, the inside man, had brought up from Niles’s stables. Emily, characteristically indifferent to the driver, swept in and took her seat. Muriel, on the contrary, who was on friendly terms with everybody, courteously bent her head to him as she passed. The driver took off his hat to her, and stood waiting for orders. “Wait a minute, please,” said Muriel. Presently, Patrick, a grey-haired, decorous old Irishman, came out with a basket, covered with a white cloth, which he deposited on the seat of the carriage. “Bless me, what’s that!” exclaimed Emily, laughing. “Pardiggle tracts for the poor,” said Muriel, jestingly. “Patrick, tell Charles to hurry.” Patrick went in and soon returned with Tugmutton, who jumped down the steps, and scrambled into the carriage. Tugmutton’s fat face was all agrin and shining like satin-wood. The happy youth had devoured a whole pie, and was in a state of supreme exhilaration. His repletion, however, did not prevent him from ogling the basket by his side, and he would have liked nothing better than to make his dessert on its contents. Muriel gave the driver his directions, and the vehicle started off down Temple and into Cambridge street to the corner of Garden. They were turning up Garden street, when Tugmutton opened his great eyes, and said. “Well now, I declare! If there ain’t Mr. Harrington!” Muriel leaned forward, and caught sight of the noble soldier-figure of Harrington striding up the street before them. “Hullo! Mr. Harrington! I say!” screeched Tugmutton. Harrington turned, with the sun on the martial lines of his face and beard. He caught sight of the inmates of the carriage instantly, and signaling to the driver to stop, he came down the street, to the side of the carriage. “What is it, John?” asked Muriel. “Nothing,” he replied, smiling, and bending his head to Emily. “It’s a false alarm, I find. But these poor people are very much excited, and I was going up to quiet them.” “Come in. We’re going to Roux’s,” said Muriel. Harrington entered, sat in Tugmutton’s place, taking him on his knee, and the carriage went on till it reached the corner of Southac street, where it stopped. “There’s considerable of a crowd here,” cried the driver.