"Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. " "You say that the miniature was abstracted from Lady Trafford's jewel-box," said Jonathan, in a loud voice. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. ‘It’s a pretty name. Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. ‘I fear you mistake, Emile. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do.
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