" "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. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. It was a simple wish. ” “Not yet,” he said. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them.
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