Bah! Some bargeman with an honest heart a-passing by had seen the foul attempt, and paused to thwart it; some gentleman, maybe, on his way to rout or tryst, thinking to divert himself with a couple of pistols and so save a human life; some third desperado, envious of the chances of these two, making shift to rob them of their prey, since he was left out of their plot. But no! None of these explanations bore the least resemblance to probabilities, in fact showed not an atom of reason in their suggestion, and Percy was feign return to his uncle’s house, thrice puzzled now, since he had not alone Lady Peggy’s oblivion to unravel, but the miraculous saving of his own life to match it! Her Ladyship, once safe in the boat, pulled hard to the upper pier, paid the boatman, and back by devious ways to Peter’s Court and into her room; shut door and latched; down on her knees, wig thrown on the hearth, a-thanking God Percy was safe! Tears? A shower of ’em, and trembling legs and arms, and heart beating to burst after the mad strain of the past eight-and-forty hours. “Now,” said Her Ladyship to herself, “now I can go back to Kennaston and spend the remainder of my life making cheeses for the Vicar to munch o’ Sundays; brewing cider for daddy to accelerate the pace of his gout withal; breeding chicks as will win prizes, and pigs as will be the envy of all! and—” a sob occurred here—“presently a-reading in the London print of the grand marriage of Sir Percy de Bohun with Lady Diana Weston! And me without the chance of weddin’ even that little ape, Sir Robin McTart! But it’s all right as ’tis,” adds Her Ladyship. “Had I hung on Armsleigh Hill, ’twould not have been too bad for one reared as I have been in a God-fearing fashion, and who, for naught save jealousy, envy and all uncharitableness, did go and so unsex myself! Lud! Is’t I? Peggy Burgoyne, spinster, a-sittin’ here in breeches and waistcoat, a guest in Mr. Beau Brummell’s house, without any other lady to keep me in countenance! ’Tis said one gets broke in to anything; but ’tis false! false! I’m not broke in to bein’ a man, and I never should be! I detest, abhor, and can’t endure the bein’ one! I that had always figured to myself the happy day when I’d be taken up to town!” Lady Peggy is now pacing the room, a trick, as has been set down earlier, that she’d borrowed from her twin. “I’d thought to be of the ton, a most genteel young lady, monstrous fine, a lovely creature; a-taking a dish of tea at Ranelagh; a-ridin’ to Court in dad’s old coronet-coach and with all the feathers I could borrow on top of my frizzes and powder; and two sweet patches set just at the corner of my dimples! That’s what I’d dreamed of, with Percy a-staring at me, lost in admiration, and—love!” Her Ladyship stamps her foot. “But what ’tis, is this!” and she now picks up the wig from the hearth and flings it on the couch beside her coat and sword.