This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared. . ’ If you engage me it must be upon my own merits. Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. I must go to work again. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest.
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