If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. I asked her to marry me, and she consented. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting.
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