So saying, she popped her head through the curtains, and bestowed upon me the reconciliatory _accolade_. After thus sealing my pardon, the worthy gentlewoman sailed out of the apartment, accompanied by her handmaid Ruth. I felt myself in a curious position,--located in a strange house, ensconced in a comfortable bed from which the right owner would presently eject me, and watched by a lovely girl of eighteen, on whose sweet countenance the very imprint of innocence was stamped. And what was I?--A regular impostor. Well, what was to be done? Should I admit my villany, and be bundled off direct to Newgate, under a charge of burglary, or some more felonious intentions? And to whom was this interesting confession to be made? The old dame?--no, faith--there no kiss of peace would ratify my pardon. The young one?--pshaw, the very idea that she had been seated beside the bed of a man in scarlet would annihilate Rachel on the spot. No doubt a discovery must ensue--but, like every thing a man dislikes, I determined to procrastinate it and trust to fortune. “Samuel,” said the sweetest voice imaginable, “does thy head ache? Let me apply this essence and passing her hand gently through the curtains, she bathed my temples with _eau-de-Cologne_. My arm was outside the coverlid,--she took my hand in hers and pressed it affectionately. “How feverish!” she murmured. “But here comes Ruth, with something our mother sends, which will allay thy thirst.” The stiff-backed abigail deposited the liquid on a table. “Come, Rachel, sleep will restore thy brother.” Then addressing herself to me, “Farewell, friend Samuel,--may this be the last of thy foolishness and after this flattering admonition, she exited from the chamber, stiff as a ramrod. “Farewell, dear brother,”--and Rachel again clasped my hand in hers,--“good night! I trust sincerely I shall find thee better in the morning.” “Stop!” I mumbled. “Rachel, _dear,--dear_ Rachel!” “What, my brother?” “The--the--the kiss of peace!” I managed to stammer from beneath the bed coverings. “Willingly, dear Samuel;” and lips, “full, rosy, ripe,” were artlessly pressed to mine, while a prayer, pure from a guileless heart, implored pardon for the past, and a blessing for the future. The next moment the door was softly closed, and I “left alone in my glory.” Would it be credited that under such circumstances had the audacity to sleep? But sleep I did--and when I slept, my head was on a peaceful pillow, and the kiss of innocence still fragrant on my lips. CHAPTER VIII. LIFE IN A WATCH-HOUSE “I’ll ne’er be drunk while I live again but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick; if I be drunk, I’ll be drunk with those that have the fear of God, and not with drunken knaves.”--Merry Wives of Windsor.