A neat tale, giving little away. "My janizaries are within call," returned Wild. Cathy Beck was outraged. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. I am very good at guessing names. I went to her rooms to-night. She laughed altogether in her old manner. ” He shrugged his shoulders.
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