" "Don't be too sure of that," rejoined Kneebone, snatching up the staff, and aiming a blow at his head, which was fortunately warded off by Mrs. Love anywhere. “Go from me, husband!” With a flourish he brought her arms behind her and her body was slammed to the floor. "Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. Mademoiselle has had no harm of me,’ Gerald said soothingly and bowed. ” “I told them a lie. There was a gallows erected, and a great mob round it—thousands of people, and all with white faces like corpses. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris. Even the stars were strangers. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. She pushed him gently on the chest. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. Around him were all the evidences of plenty. "Stop a minute, my dear," cried Austin.
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