“Thank God,” he exclaimed. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. The devil is on top, not below. "His right leg bold and firm, and his left, which could hardly ever be disturbed, gave him a surprising advantage, and struck his adversary with despair and panic.
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