Peter, who was peeping in at the window, whispered-- "She's rising.

Now we'll catch it, Ranald!" Coughing as she came, I heard her with shuffling steps approach the door, thinking to open it for air.

When she failed in opening it, and found besides where the smoke was coming from, she broke into a torrent of fierce and vengeful reproaches, mingled with epithets by no means flattering.

She did not curse and swear as Peter had led me to expect, although her language was certainly far enough from refined; but therein I, being, in a great measure, the guilty cause, was more to blame than she.

I laughed because I would not be unworthy of my companion, who was genuinely amused; but I was, in reality, shocked at the tempest I had raised.