“DEAR MR. " "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. Be off!" "Jack!" exclaimed his unhappy parent. I didn't understand then, but I do now. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. “Lucy Albert, sir. Yesterday this glorious creature had loved him; to-day she was only friendly. " Awed by Jonathan's manner, Mrs.
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