” “And my heart has ached for him!” “Oh, no doubt it cut him at the time. She knew the truth of it all right. The villagers were thronging to church. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. The moral right of the author has been asserted. . The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. I've come all these miles for this young fellow; but I don't cotton to the idea of lallygagging four weeks in this burg. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. You go to your room and ring for your maid.
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