His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. And not a worthy tome in sight. He had scarcely entered the arch, when the indraught was so violent, and the noise of the wind so dreadful and astounding, that he almost determined to relinquish the undertaking. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. He yielded his place and struck instead with his tongue. Suddenly he stopped short. And will you look! His name neatly cut out from each title page. " "A mother's blessing on you," replied Mrs. Shotbolt that if he, or any other person, takes Jack Sheppard before to-morrow morning, I'll double it. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. They would be partners only in loneliness. "I don't think he would leave me, even if I could part with him," observed Mrs.
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