Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. " "It is life. To such characters, fine actions are in themselves sufficient. A bumper round, gentlemen. Come along, master. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. I never have known you. “It’s—private. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there.
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