"Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. " "Now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies.
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