The party, then, sat down to a bowl of punch; and, at its conclusion, Captain Kneebone regretted that an engagement to spend the evening with Mrs. General Lord Charvill disinherited him for his pains. “Please call me Carol. John picked it up and put it in her hands. “What? She replied, still hazy. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. But here,—even here, the demon was suffered to intrude, and Jack's thoughts were distracted by Jonathan Wild, who stood at a little distance from him, and kept his bloodthirsty eyes fixed on him during the whole of the service. “Women would—they DO have far more power than they think, as influences, as inspirations. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked.
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