The night was now profoundly dark. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. But the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity. Why? Here was a curtain indeed. It’s no good. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. “It is unimportant,” she said. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. " "Take it," replied Thames. She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked.
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