. Finally she fell into reflection. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. Startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it proceeded. "Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal. Even now she was dazed.
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