" A shadow, which was not cast by the jib, fell upon them both. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. Of course I knew all about him years ago, and he is exactly like everybody’s description of him. Startled by this circumstance, he looked around, and perceived that the trap-door,—which has been mentioned as communicating with a secret staircase,—was open. ‘That piece of information seemed to interest him very much. What'syour-name!" "Charcam," replied the attendant, bowing. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. Ruth was at that stage where the absorption of facts is great, but where the mental digestion is not quite equal to the task.
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