Chapter C: H a P. LXXXVIII

IT was like the momentary contest in the moist eye-lids of an _April_ morning, “Whether Bridget should laugh or cry.”

She snatch’d up a rolling-pin——’twas ten to one, she had laugh’d——

She laid it down——she cried; and had one single tear of ’em but tasted of bitterness, full sorrowful would the corporal’s heart have been that he had used the argument; but the corporal understood the sex, a _quart major to a terce_ at least, better than my uncle _Toby_, and accordingly he assailed Mrs. _Bridget_ after this manner.

I know, Mrs. _Bridget_, said the corporal, giving her a most respectful kiss, that thou art good and modest by nature, and art withal so generous a girl in thyself, that, if I know thee rightly, thou would’st not wound an insect, much less the honour of so gallant and worthy a soul as my master, wast thou sure to be made a countess of——but thou hast been set on, and deluded, dear _Bridget_, as is often a woman’s case, “to please others more than themselves——”

_Bridget_’s eyes poured down at the sensations the corporal excited.

——Tell me——tell me, then, my dear _Bridget_, continued the corporal, taking hold of her hand, which hung down dead by her side,——and giving a second kiss——whose suspicion has misled thee?

_Bridget_ sobb’d a sob or two——then open’d her eyes——the corporal wiped ’em with the bottom of her apron——she then open’d her heart and told him all.