It must be somewhere hereabouts. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Ten days should see you on your feet. "Tush!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, angrily. Jack who had not been in a place of worship for many years was powerfully affected. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. "He is respited?" "Alas! no," replied Thames, sadly. ’ Kimble nodded. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. The dusky obscurity of the room was twice welcome.
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