“Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. “No doubt about that,” Meddoes continued. " "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. Stay where you are, Mr. ’ ‘Oh, don’t I? What do you have under all those petticoats, a holster?’ ‘But yes, and they are empty.
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