"I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense. "Perhaps you don't know that this Darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, I can assure you. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. ‘He just came. After all, you failed in obtaining the secret from her, Sir Rowland. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. I saw it this morning in the Daily Journal—an advertisement, offering a reward—" "A reward!" echoed Jack. ‘Well, that depends.
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