CHAPTER XIII. " "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. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. They walked side by side for a time. This is a mere boy. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped.
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