The panel in the bookcase. "Stay, dear Thames!—stay!" cried the little girl. “It is the first moment we have let him out of our sight,” Brendon exclaimed, as he hastened across the street. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink.
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