"Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. And he liked her. ‘I know that, miss. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Consequences of the Theft. Perhaps it was loneliness.
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