No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. She was chaffing him about being taken for Meysey Hill, and suggested that he should be presented to me as the millionaire. It would have been a crisis anyhow, but it was complicated in Ann Veronica’s mind by the fact that a letter lay on the breakfast-table from Mr.
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