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Mr. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair. My motive in coming hither is to serve you, and save your life. "Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" was McClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. "Now, Mr. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts. ‘I must see the lady who is my great-aunt.
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