” “God send you may never repent it!” cried Capes. "Slip on the handcuffs," cried the thief-taker. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. The air was pungent and leaden. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess.
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