She breathed deeply of the starch of his shirt. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. It was no use. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. " "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. On weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings.
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