‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. Kneebone! you would greatly oblige me by surrendering yourself. " "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 knows what she’s up against. "As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it.
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