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“Annabel?” he exclaimed. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. I'm no mollycoddle. Having made a tolerably good meal upon the loaf, overcome by fatigue, Jack turned into a barn in Stoke Newington, and slept till late in the day, when he awakened much refreshed. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. Without you, we might have had some trouble. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it. She found a little difficulty in beginning. As the day wore on, the crowds diminished,—many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away ungratified,—and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr. ’ Jack gasped. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand.

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