His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. He was asleep. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. "Look quick, Blueskin, and be cursed to you!" was growled in the deep tones of Jonathan Wild. Well, this is OUR thing. “Now I’ll have what I want from you, wife. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. “I want to know who you are. ‘The whole town is talking.
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