" Mechanically raising the potion to her lips, the poor creature swallowed it without hesitation. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland. “You have even her name. ‘I do not know your Gérard. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Every moment. She answered weakly, “I’m fine, John. And it is your own fault that your husband dallies with me. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. I'll be feeling fine in no time.
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