"I think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. Accompanied by Sir Cecil, who still continued passionately enamoured of his sister, and to whom he represented that she had fallen a victim to the arts of a seducer, he set off, at fiery speed, for the metropolis. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain.
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