"Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. The latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Hartford had a very respectable sound. " "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. It was the gallows. ‘You see, unlike you, mademoiselle, your cavalier here would not wish to be arrested. Out of these he selected a faded parchment and restored the rest to safety.
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