" "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. She felt like a dried-up old woman. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. If by any chance I have made a mistake a word will bring me to you.
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