Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. " "For you!" exclaimed Jonathan; "don't flatter yourself that I'm thinking of you. But seriously, things are not so bad as you think. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Pure romantic nonsense on her part. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes. Slowly descending Snow Hill, the train passed on its way, attended by the same stunning vociferations, cheers, yells, and outcries, which had accompanied it on starting from Newgate.
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