The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. Everything was going to hell. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. Two packets were committed to your charge, which you undertook to deliver,—one to another priest, Sir Rowland's chaplain, at Manchester, the other to Mr. “By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. She isn't used to cities. “You may go on with that work,” he said, “so long as you keep in harmony with things at home. CHAPTER I.
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