" "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. 1. All the turnkeys were assembled. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. Courtlaw stood up. Hence!" "Mother! dear mother!" cried Jack, in a voice, the tones of which were altered by his very anxiety to make them distinct, "listen to me. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son.
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