" "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. He saw the colossal selfishness of his act; but he could not beg off on the plea of abnormality. ’ She closed her mind on the possibility of finding out, and went on, ‘But me, I have been in a war, and I have won. Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. ’ She let out a peal of laughter.
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