" "They're lifting her out of the carriage," interposed Charcam; "will it please your honour to send for some advice and the chaplain?" "Fly for both," returned Sir Rowland, in a tone of bitter anguish. "Do you want it back under the pillow?" "Hang it over a chair. "I'm going back for Ruth. "To-night you shall be my wedded wife. Then pain entered their depths. But I can tell you who'll have the pleasure of hanging your father's son; and that's a person not a hundred miles distant from you at this moment—ha! ha!" As he said this, the door was opened, and Charcam entered, accompanied by a dwarfish, shabby-looking man, in a brown serge frock, with coarse Jewish features, and a long red beard. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. "No!" she cried.
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