” Diane’s voice resonated up the stairs. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. The fellow is little better than a lunatic. .
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