"Beg pardon, Sir Rowland," said the attendant, "but there's a boy from Mr. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. ’ ‘Not dead, miss. Well, while we were smoking our pipes, and quaffing our punch, Alsatia turns to me and says, 'Mint,' says he, 'you're well off here. " "At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred. .
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