"Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. " "Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words," rejoined Jonathan, sternly. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. "I should be sorry to proceed to extremities," continued Sheppard, again raising the pistol. ‘How famous. I'll call it my wedding gift. Oh, it was very bad.
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