You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. Still, one never could tell. She shot a sudden glance at him. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter.
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