A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers. "Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan. " "The very face," exclaimed Gay, advancing to look at it;—"with all the escapes written in it. . ” “You shall not need either,” Brendon said grimly.
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