‘To see Charvill. She knew it. You shall hear from me to-morrow. ” She relented. On the same day, moreover, which, by a curious coincidence, was the birthday of the Chevalier de Saint George, mobs were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince was publicly drunk under the title of James the Third; while, in many country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a reigning monarch:—the cry of the populace almost universally being, "No King George, but a Stuart!" The adherents of the Chevalier de Saint George, we have said, were lavish in promises to their proselytes. “Look at me. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. Luckily I’m not. Come along home, Ruth. ’ ‘This, monsieur le major, is entirely your own affair,’ said the lady, haughty again.
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