Opera--if stopped, and so the chairmen, knowing no more than Adam who they would be carrying, might go through the thick of the boys at a pinch safe enough, or round any way, sure; they know the town, and the short cuts, and set ‘em down (a good riddance!) out of hand, at any house at all they mention, who’d resave them of their own frinds, or kith and kin--for, to be sure, I suppose they _have_ frinds, tho’ I’m not one. You’ll settle with them by the time it’s come, where they’ll set down, and I’ll step for the chair, will I?” “No,” said Mr. Montenero, “not unless it be the ladies’ own desire to go: I cannot turn them out of my house, if they choose to stay; at all hazards they shall have every protection I can afford. Berenice, I am sure, will think and feel as I do.” Mr. Montenero returned to the drawing-room, to learn the determination of his guests. “There goes as good a Christian!” cried the Widow Levy, holding up her forefinger, and shaking it at Mr. Montenero the moment his back was turned: “didn’t I tell ye so from the first? Oh! if he isn’t a jewel of a Jew!--and the daughter the same!” continued she, following me as I walked up and down the hall: “the kind-hearted cratur, how tinder she looked at the fainting Jezabel--while the black woman turning from her in her quality scowls.--Oh! I seed it all, and with your own eyes, dear--but I hope they’ll go--and once we get a riddance of them women. I’ll answer for the rest. Bad luck to the minute they come into the house! I wish the jantleman would be back--Oh! here he is--and will they go, jewel?” cried she, eagerly. “The ladies will stay,” said Mr. Montenero. “Murder!--but you can’t help it--so no more about it--but what arms have ye?” No arms were to be found in the house but a couple of swords, a pair of pistols of Mr. Montenero’s, and one gun, which had been left by the former proprietor. Mr. Montenero determined to write immediately to his friend General B--, to request that a party of the military might be sent to guard his house. “Ay, so best, send for the dragoons, the only thing left on earth for us now: but don’t let ‘em fire on _the boys_--disperse ‘em with the horse, asy, ye can, without a shot; so best--I’ll step down and feel the pulse of all below.” While Mr. Montenero wrote, Berenice, alarmed for her father, stood leaning on the back of his chair, in silence. “Oh! Mr. Harrington! Mr. Harrington!” repeated Lady Anne, “what will become of us! If Colonel Topham was but here! Do send to the Opera, pray, pray, with _my_ compliments--Lady Anne Mowbray’s compliments--he’ll come directly, I’m sure.” “That my son, Lord Mowbray, should be out of town, how extraordinary and how unfortunate!” cried Lady de Brantefield, “when we might have had his protection, his regiment, without applying to strangers.”