Darrell stood erect in the bark, with his drawn sword in hand, prepared to repel the attack of his assailants, who, in their turn, seemed to await with impatience the moment which should deliver him into their power. . "On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. As she did so the preparation-room door opened behind her. She laid her hand upon his arm. "You are, Sir," thundered Jonathan; "and, unless you find him, you shan't hold your place a week. ” “Nor I.
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