“What’s that for?” He said. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. It must be my fault that you have not learnt that your husband is the man to come to—at such a time as this. " Finding it useless to struggle further, Mr.
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