“Permit me to offer you the English paper which has just arrived, Sir John,” he said, holding out a Daily Telegraph. I shall count it a privilege. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. He nodded silently, too full for words. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. ’ ‘It is true,’ insisted the lady. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. You love money. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. It shall be done as you direct. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. But, you see, she HAS to lie up. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm.
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