The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 189: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

186 THE CHILD OF WATERLOO, ‘“Nay, sir, you give me too much commendation.” ** You—you, sir ?” “Yes: it was I who——” Captain Morton found himself clasped in the old man’s arms before he could say more. ‘< You saved that dear infant?” he said. ‘‘ You have been the generous soldier who, when lying even on the field of carnage, wounded, sought to relieve the pangs of an enemy by accepting the sacred trust which he committed to you?” ‘““Nay, sir, be calm. I should have been undeserving the name of man had I acted otherwise than I did.” ‘‘ Bravo!” cried Rafferty Brolickbones. springing and laying hold of Monsieur Rouselli’s hand, to which he gave a shake that nearly knocked the old man down. ‘‘ Bravo! you are the finest old cock for a Frenchman that I ever saw.” ‘‘ What do you mean, my friend ?” “Why, by the holy poker! I mane that I am ready any day in the week, barring a Friday, ’cos that’s unlucky, to take the divil’s own oath that, at some period or another in your history, ould gentleman, some Irish blood has got into your family.” ‘“‘Now, Rafferty, do not make yourself troublesome,” said Captain Morton; ‘‘ you are too violent, and I have only, as you know, permitted you to come here, in order that in consequence of having been present when Mabel was committed to my care on the field of Waterloo, you might be able to answer any ques- tions this gentleman might wish to put to you.” ‘¢‘ And were you there, indeed ?” suid old Monsieur RouseJli. ‘*T rather think I was, sir; more by token that I got as elegant arap on the head as ever a Brolickbones would like to have. It’s a mighty yood thing it hit so hard a place.” ‘¢ And you saw the last moments of my son—of my dear son ?” ‘<T did, sir.” ‘You shall another time—another time you shall tell me all. Not now, wy friend, not now.” ‘Very good, sir; when you like. By Jingo, Mister Henry will never make me believe but there’s some Irish blood in his veins. Maybe there was an Irishman of some sort in his mother’s fam- ily, who knows?” CHAPTER XXXVIII. _ ALMOST maddened by terror, Mabel ran into the street. She ‘knew not whither she fled, or in what direction. Terror alone was the impulse she moved under. She knew not what was going on around her, or whether she was pursued. Fear, in- deed, told her she was; but she had no reason for believing she pias beyond that she knew nothing—nay, she attempted not to ink, The mind was in abeyance, Agitated and impelled by fears and hopes. she had no room for reflection or caution. She merely fled, and that with the utmost precipitation. But she was compelled to slacken her speed; for the fatigue and terror comicbooks. com