" "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. She found she could do her microscope work all the better for being in love. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. This gloom was impossible. '—'They can't,' says I. The soi-disant Valade escapes and takes my proof, which I have broken on his head. Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have to do is to take them well. I wanted to have something to give up. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. Do you like duck?” “Sure.
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