After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. It was not in evidence here, not a sign of it. "My friends, Mr. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. ” Annabel looked down. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. Perhaps in two or three weeks.
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