“The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. “Was he really?” She asked, waiting on baited breath. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. He put his free arm around her and held the censer ready; and as Ruth snuggled her cheek against his sleeve, they were, so far as intent, in each other's arms.
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