” He writhed. As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. " "Then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment. Burn your palette and your easel. " "It ought to be; it cost enough to get it here," said the Scot, ruefully. "Agreed," responded the Master. She rose to the fire to stoke it. “Where am I?” he muttered. This request, however, was refused; and he was told that the only way in which he could entitle himself to his Majesty's clemency would be by discovering who had abetted him in his last escape; the strongest suspicions being entertained that he had not affected it alone. It is better to face the truth.
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