The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil. "Do you mean to say that if I support your kid, I shan't bring him up how I please—eh?" "Don't question me, but leave me," replied the widow wildly; "you had better. “Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. Such was his fury, that if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice, by laying violent hands upon his victim. “How shall I get my luggage out of the house?. Yet the fact remains that you do not understand me at all. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. ‘I recall my father speaking of you as a Remenham. If only to say goodbye.
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