" "I could make a fine sketch of him now," whispered Hogarth to Gay. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. Always as black and bitter as gall. I'll be with you in a jiffy. There are way-stations—even terminals. ‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know. I had not the time to formulate the decoctions that would have saved him— they take weeks to create and must come from your own blood! You were perilously close to death, and had I not watched you constantly for the week you were unconscious they would have buried you alive! Gianfrancesco was ready to give up after two days, 172 ready to throw you in the plague cart! Of course he had no use for you after bearing witness to the loss of your womanly organs. " "Don't go near him, dear Thames," said Winifred; "he may have some ill intention.
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