" "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. "More than three hundred weight, Sir," replied the man. As soon as the service was over, Thames contrived to approach him, and whispered, "Be cautious,—the funeral will take place after evening service. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. The well of tears in her eyes was dry.
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