Sheppard was unwillingly compelled to listen. ‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. She whispered, “Another car is coming,” as lights approached their car. Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. " "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. “Won’t you have some more tea, Mr.
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