There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Her fingers rested upon his. "My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. "There won't be much left for you," he said. ” “Wherever you like!” he answered, a little absently. She found presently she was out of the dock and confronted with the alternative of being bound over in one surety for the sum of forty pounds— whatever that might mean or a month’s imprisonment. Her dress, it has just been said, was neatness and simplicity itself. Before very long I hope to have definite work.
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