"I can," replied Trenchard. And I have no more the pistol. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. “Miss Pellissier is nothing to me except a young lady for whom I have the most profound and respectful admiration. ‘She ought to be.
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