"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Very romantic and all that. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. It isn’t. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. You can do it, if you will. But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. But I want to know whether in such an event you would stand by me?” She held out her hand. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. " "In whose favour is it made?" he inquired, sternly. It was Annabel who caught at the paper.
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