" "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. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. For was not Gerald a gentleman? An Englishman, whose services any female—excluding her own self so idiote— would be very happy to have. Here we are. "After all, I believe we Chinese have the right idea. " And, with the uninjured hand he drew a pistol, which he fired, but without effect, at Jack.
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