I have only just left Wych Street. It was you who were so much amazed that I did not try—the music hall stage here. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Don’t you know I disinherited the rogue?’ ‘This we knew, milor’,’ said Valade. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. The mere fact that he was there in the train alongside her, helping her, sitting opposite to her in the dining-car, presently sleeping on a seat within a yard of her, made her heart sing until she was afraid their fellow passengers would hear it. The violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang.
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