"Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. ‘You have rifled his papers. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. One did not use pistols against a female. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended.
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