His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town. She is no longer mine; she is yours. '—'Pretty well,' says I; 'you're not badly off at the Friars, for that matter. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. Spurling has induced him to sit down again.
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