“Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. " "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. Upon the steps leading to the gates of the church stood two persons whom Jack instantly recognised. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. Thames Darrell.
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