" "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. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. ” “I can’t imagine what makes you fly out against everything like this,” said Miss Stanley to her niece. Anna took up the pen, and signed, after a moment’s hesitation, A.
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