" "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. “I trust,” he said, “that you will recognize the justice of these conditions. "We're merely about to discharge our duty by apprehending a rebel. ” “It can’t prevent our loving. "'Sblood!" cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "I've been nicely done here. " "You will call for it before six months are passed," rejoined Jack, sternly.
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