Voilà tout. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. "I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. The solemn strokes were immediately answered by a multitude of chimes, sounding across the Thames, amongst which the deep note of Saint Paul's was plainly distinguishable. . . Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage.
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