"What's that?" ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. " "He's let out for a few hours," laughed Kneebone; "but he's going back again after supper. Eggs were procured for her, and she sat out the subsequent emotions and eloquence with the dignity becoming an injured lady of good family. But you—you have a good face.
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