"Halloa!" exclaimed Austin, who had caught a glimpse of her departing figure, "one of the women is gone!" "No—no," hastily interposed Mrs. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields. " As he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. "I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild.
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