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At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The father was a madman. He had thought it might have that effect. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court,—celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,—he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan's habitation. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. “I suppose, Vee, you don’t see much of those Widgetts now?” “I go in and talk to Constance sometimes. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water.

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