"Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. He was alarmed when she returned to the stage and her eyes passed over him in the audience. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. The veranda bamboo will be enough for me. That was supposed to be Madame Valade. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. ‘I have told you, a whip it is nothing. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper.
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