" "There's but one way of clearing it, your worship," said the Master, archly. " "But I'm a poor man. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. Annabel entered. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. ” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch.
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