Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Return to him, I say—" "I can't," replied Jack, doggedly. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. You say I know nothing. " "Ha!" exclaimed Jonathan, with a sudden vehemence that electrified the chief turnkey; "what's this! a spike gone! 'Sdeath! the women, you say, have been here.
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