I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. Jack was a comical scoundrel, and made a little too free with his grace's best burgundy, as well as his grace's favourite housekeeper. “Sure, I guess so. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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