" "Zounds! David Pugh, don't you know your old friend and countryman?" exclaimed the carpenter. " "Ah!" ejaculated the widow, hiding her face. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. Was she so fearful still? Roding shrugged and grimaced. ‘Gérard, you are a great fool. You saw him? You have been to Remenham House?’ ‘Remenham House? I wish I’d been only to Remenham House. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen.
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