“DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. " "Come, Sir!" thundered the latter, "no trifling! Perhaps," he added, opening a warrant, "you'll obey this mandate?" "A warrant!" ejaculated Kneebone, starting to his feet. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. In the pause she realized the attention of the others converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes. \"His name is John Diedermayer.
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