But they were too late. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. But before he could say anything, the vehicle rolled to a halt. " "I will have none till I have forced the villain's name from you!" he cried, stamping the floor with rage. Two packets were committed to your charge, which you undertook to deliver,—one to another priest, Sir Rowland's chaplain, at Manchester, the other to Mr. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. The young lady saw the change, and almost snorted. What do you think people will make of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward.
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