"So I have," replied Hogarth, glancing at Sheppard. " "Ah!" shrieked Lady Trafford. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. I will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more.
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