Now, Sir, will you please to follow me?" Mr. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Mr. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses.
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