" "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. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. He drew her to him with his hands upon her waist. “I have heard of you, of course,” Anna answered hesitatingly, “but——” “You cannot imagine what I have come to see you about. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting.
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