" "Thank you! thank you!" faltered Jack, in a voice full of emotion. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way.
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