It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. " "You need not," replied Jack, in a tone of the deepest compunction. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds. On the left there were doors communicating with the King's Bench Ward and the Stone Ward, two large holds on the Master Debtors' side. Manning?” said her aunt.
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