Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. 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. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. Yet I shall think of you to-day. . Then he put the paper by. ” “Of course you can.
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