“Sure,” answers she, “that’s a thing that can never be known until you’re dead, and maybe not as soon, since the surgeons don’t cut up everybody! Lud, Sir, give me your name, and we’ll talk of your heart anon.” “I am Sir Robin McTart of Robinswold, Kent,” exclaims he, feeling positive that this saucy minx is none other than his adored, for be it remembered Lady Biddy spoke under her breath and with a disguised tone to her voice. “’Od’s blood!” now whispers Her Ladyship, with an accent of mock terror, into Sir Robin’s ear. “You! the highwayman! the cut-throat! the robber! what, I’ve heard, sticks gentlemen in the back, or has your men do it for you, and profits by that same!” laughing fit to kill herself. But the little man does not laugh; the cold sweat stands out all over his sallow countenance, and he’s so terrified, recalling the threats of Mr. Bloksey, that he stands stock-still, and really can not move a leg. They are nigh the Dark Walks as Sir Robin comes to his halt, and Lady Biddy, not pausing even to note his silence, goes merrily on with her most apt discourse. “Oh,” proceeds she, “but you are the hero of the day, Sir Robin, and it’s myself that’s proud to be in your company, and faith! I’d like to have died running to see you hang on Saturday last!” “Hang!” gasps he, getting back the use of his voice, but not of his shaking legs. “Saturday last!” “Don’t be that bashful, Sir Robin, making as if you’d never heard of such before!” And Lady Biddy gives the Baronet’s cloak a playful tweak. “Lud, Sir! you and Sir Percy de Bohun’s the two most talked about, of all the bucks in town!” “Sir Percy de Bohun!” repeats he, his knees knocking together. “Sure’n didn’t he save you from the gibbet? Oh, go-along with you, Sir Robin, you can’t palaver Lady—” “Lady who?” he contrives to ejaculate, struck nearly dumb at this mention of his rival, while Lady Biddy now bridles and is mute. “You are Lady Peggy Burgoyne, are you not?” he goes on more softly, bending toward his companion, and concluding at last that the Lady’s words must have been the mere hap-hazards of a sparkling disposition.