" "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. “Lord!” she said. Before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and Jack with his irons on descended from it. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic.
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