" "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. “You!” she exclaimed. ’ ‘Willingly?’ ‘Parbleu, what a person you think me. And I'll have supper with you. Ah Cum had no business taking him into the city last night. Alice was going to be Mrs. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup.
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