.

"Egad!" said he to the Corporal one day, when confiding his griefs to
Mr. Brock, "I wish my toe had been cut off before ever it served as a
ladder to this little vixen."

"Or perhaps your honour would wish to kick her downstairs with it?"
delicately suggested Mr. Brock.

"Kick her! why, the wench would hold so fast by the banisters that I
COULD not kick her down, Mr. Brock. To tell you a bit of a secret, I
HAVE tried as much--not to kick her--no, no, not kick her, certainly:
that's ungentlemanly--but to INDUCE her to go back to that cursed
pot-house where we fell in with her. I have given her many hints--"

"Oh, yes, I saw your honour give her one yesterday--with a mug of beer.
By the laws, as the ale run all down her face, and she clutched a knife
to run at you, I don't think I ever saw such a she-devil! That woman
will do for your honour some day, if you provoke her."

"Do for ME? No, hang it, Mr. Brock, never! She loves every hair of my
head, sir: she worships me, Corporal. Egad, yes! she worships me; and
would much sooner apply a knife to her own weasand than scratch my
little finger!"

"I think she does," said Mr. Brock.

"I'm sure of it," said the Captain. "Women, look you, are like dogs,
they like to be ill-treated: they like it, sir; I know they do. I never
had anything to do with a woman in my life but I ill-treated her, and
she liked me the better."

"Mrs. Hall ought to be VERY fond of you then, sure enough!" said Mr.
Corporal.

"Very fond;--ha, ha! Corporal, you wag you--and so she IS very fond.
Yesterday, after the knife-and-beer scene--no wonder I threw the liquor
in her face: it was so dev'lish flat that no gentleman could drink it:
and I told her never to draw it till dinner-time--"

"Oh, it was enough to put an angel in a fury!" said Brock.

"Well, yesterday, after the knife business, when you had got the carver
out of her hand, off she flings to her bedroom, will not eat a bit of
dinner forsooth, and remains locked up for a couple of hours. At
two o'clock afternoon (I was over a tankard), out comes the little
she-devil, her face pale, her eyes bleared, and the tip of her nose as
red as fire with sniffling and weeping. Making for my hand, 'Max,' says
she, 'will you forgive me?' 'What!' says I. 'Forgive a murderess?'
says I. 'No, curse me, never!' 'Your cruelty will kill me,' sobbed she.
'Cruelty be hanged!' says I; 'didn't you draw that beer an hour before
dinner?' She could say nothing