" "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. "No, I won't hear you, murderer," rejoined Wood. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room.
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