"Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. He just walked in a few minutes ago. "Here I am, Captain," cried a voice from without.
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