"Why came she here?" "She could not resist the hand of fate which drew her hither," replied Sir Cecil, mournfully. " So saying, he sprang, with a bound like that of a tiger-cat, against the throat of the woollen-draper. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. I give myself to you. ’ ‘Who were they?’ she asked abruptly. " "Be silent, and conceal yourself.
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