The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. " "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. Before he could make the thrust, however, he was seized behind by Ireton, who flung himself upon him. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. He found a coach at the door, with the blinds carefully drawn up, and ascertained from a tall, ill-looking, though tawdrily-dressed fellow, who held his horse by the bridle, and whom he addressed as Quilt Arnold, that the two boys were safe inside, in the custody of Abraham Mendez, the dwarfish Jew. Soot was everywhere, for the lamp would not stay trimmed in the gale. "You poor child!" said Prudence. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. "I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. Here are all our harlequins and columbines of the spoken and written drama. .
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