Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. ‘Knowed it the instant I set eyes on her. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. " "I don't mind the throuble," hesitated Terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; "and I'd like to sarve you if I could, for you look like a gentleman's son, and that goes a great way wi' me. Give me the chisel, Blueskin.
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