“What is the good of talking?” said her brother. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. "Hush!" she said. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. 'He's a good fellow, and 'twill all end well'. “It seems—It’s interesting. I mean that it doesn’t interest you in itself. Just then, a carriage drawn by four horses, drove furiously up to the Six Bells; but Jack was too much absorbed to take any notice of it.
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