Hastening to the church, he entered it by the very door near which his first crime had been committed. Thames, look the door. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. Around her neck was a little gold chain. Fortescue’s steps, and encountered him with an air of artless surprise.
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