As to Lord Strathern, he was delighted with the account of _ma
belle_'s cunning manoeuvres and witty speeches, even to the point of
laughing heartily at her satire on himself; and he reveled in L'Isle's
ill-concealed mortification, exclaiming: "What a pity the plot failed
by Mabel's unmasking too soon. That and your good horse enabled you to
keep your appointment at the risk of your neck. Why, L'Isle, you might
have become a ballad hero. Mabel would have put your adventure in
verse, and set it to music, and you would have been sung by all our
musical folks, from Major Lumley down to the smallest drummer-boy. You
are a lucky fellow; but this time your luck has lost you fame."
"And how did you get away at last?" asked Sir Rowland, fully convinced
that L'Isle had been a prisoner, under lock, bolt and bar.
The earth-stains on L'Isle's clothes might have testified that he had
gotten a bad fall in jumping out of a lady's window, at two o'clock in
the morning. But this is a scandalous world. L'Isle remembered
Bradshawe, without looking at him, and evaded the question.
"I found old Moodie, lantern in hand, at the open gate, looking as if
he had drank nothing but vinegar in a month, the picture of sour
sobriety!"
Sir Rowland had striven in vain not to join in the laugh; but, in
spite of himself, was much diverted at L'Isle's adventure.
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