To surrender himself to the law, to face trial and imprisonment, was out of the question. " "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. He was holding the ring to the light, and narrowly examining the inscription. "I eat for both. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs.
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