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"Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night.

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