" The Wastrel tried to reach Ruth's lips. No good at all. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. Quarter-staves, bludgeons, brown-bills, lanterns, swords, and sconces were alike shivered; and, to judge from the sullied state of their habiliments, the claret must have been tapped pretty freely. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. ‘So it would appear. “You should quit. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. “I doubted my luck, at least.
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