Annabel saw it, and suddenly changed her tone. " "Aye," said McClintock, in a tone so peculiar that it sent Spurlock's glance to his plate. Cut to pieces —slashed—bloodied. It was the moment for smiles. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk.
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