“You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. “Thank you both for treating me for all the world like I was your child. You must dispose of the goldsmith's note I gave you yesterday, as soon as you arrive at Rotterdam. “In a sense—yes. Is there anything you want?" She laid her hand on his forehead, and found it without fever. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. “We have come too close together for me to believe it. "A hell of a muddle! But all the talk in the world can't undo it. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things would have been different.
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