" "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. I have fulfilled my part of our marriage contract. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. . Come, make yourself scarce. ‘That I do not yet know. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head.
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