“Lucy, you have to play for us after dinner, oh please. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. Annabel a murderess! It was not possible. “I am going to break a covenant,” he cried. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies.
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