learned the cause of her being carried off?" asked Mareschal hastily.
"She is retired to her apartment greatly fatigued, and I cannot expect much light upon her adventure till her spirits are somewhat recruited," replied her father. "She and I were not the less obliged to you, Mareschal, and to my other friends, for their kind enquiries. But I must suppress the father's feelings for a while to give myself up to those of the patriot. You know this is the day fixed for our final decision—time passes—our friends are arriving, and I have opened house, not only for the gentry, but for the under-spur leathers whom we must necessarily employ. We have, therefore, little time to prepare to meet them—look over these lists, Marchie, (an abbreviation by which Mareschal-Wells was known among his friends.) Do you, Sir Frederick, read these letters from Lothian and the west—all is ripe for the sickle, and we have but to summon out the reapers."
