" "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed. There is nobody, then?" "Oh, there is an aunt. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. Here," he added, throwing a handbill on the bed, "are the particulars of the burglary, with the reward for Jack's apprehension. She could have kissed Cathy.
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