Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. "Come here," said the petticoated tyrant. Fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. "Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain.
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