On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. “Thank you—for coming,” he said. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. . ’ I said. . " "And now, father, your blessing—your consent!" cried Thames. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs.
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