“Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. Me, I prefer to forget that I have such a father. Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound. These desperadoes had been the most active in demolishing the coach, and now, being supported by the rabble, they audaciously approached the very portals of the ancient Hall. "You've won your wager. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted.
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