" "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. “An annuity—a sum of money paid to you yearly or quarterly through my solicitors, and which you can consider as a gift from your sister.
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