" "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. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. " "Well, Sir," gasped Mrs. Having secured this,—for he was almost famished,—he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one.
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