’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured. Cathy appeared in her bathrobe. It is no fault of your own that you are not at this moment standing there with your head blown off. " And, as the weights were removed, he fainted. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night.
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