Lord, but it was a nun! Just as he had suspected. Ennison’s acquaintance. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly. 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. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. CHAPTER XVIII. Borne in the arms of a couple of assistants, and preceded by Mrs.
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