The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. ToC Sir Rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step. A sea voyage under sail will be the making of him. ‘And me—’ ‘You, mademoiselle, are more trouble than you’re worth, and I’ll thank you to —’ ‘Hilary, don’t,’ said Lucy, and Melusine’s rising temper cooled a little. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. “Yes?” he said. " "Indeed!" rejoined Sir Rowland, haughtily; "perhaps, you will refresh my memory as to the time, and place.
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