On Sunday, he was conveyed to the chapel, through which he had passed on the occasion of his great escape, and once more took his seat in the Condemned Pew. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. "But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. "Thank Heaven! I'm not basely born. ” She had a moment of sheer panic at the thing she had done.
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