" "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. ’ She frowned suddenly. "Drink your peg; don't bother about me. . “I had no idea that it was so abominably late. need me a little?" "Not a little, but a great deal. Surely it was a dream. I wouldn't accept my life from him.
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