At table he carved in a gloomy but resolute manner. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. " "Have you told her?" "Told her? Told her what?" Spurlock sat straight in his chair. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. Just an idea of mine. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard.
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