" "Most likely," observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; "the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. His face was white. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. ” “I thought I was old enough,” she gasped, between laughter and crying. ’ ‘When you begin to tell the truth,’ Gerald told her severely, ‘I shall be happy to believe you. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. "Well reminded," answered Rowland, who had witnessed his struggles with a smile of gratified vengeance; "I had forgotten the accursed imp in this confusion.
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