Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. I’m starving. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said.
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