"Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. " "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. One transgression; he was sure of that. “I am sorry for the way I acted, Lucy. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. “Never mind the bill,” said Manning tragically, standing up and thrusting a four-shilling piece into her hand, and turning a broad back on her astonishment. She was too late. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Mom, this is Lucy Albert from school. "Ah! I see. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. The doctor frowned. His hug became an embrace.
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