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‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. ” “We will go to a very quiet place,” he assured her, “a place where I have often taken my own sisters. A check arrives in Batavia every three months. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. Tell me, Sir," he added, advancing towards the knight, "tell me has this man spoken falsely?— Tell me my mother is alive, and do what you please with me. " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch House. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. He had done it. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand.

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