” “It’s these Rascals,” said Mr. " "Here he is!" cried Ireton, as the knocking was heard without. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. “No one asks you to care for them. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. ‘That’s not much comfort. I want to talk to Mr. She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch.
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