The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. The youthful couple had been seated in the carriage a few minutes when they were joined by Mr. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. No more scuffling. I wouldn't have him see me in this state for the world. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court,—celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,—he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan's habitation. After a careful search below, he could detect no trace of Blueskin. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. "What do you want?" he asked, in a gruff voice. . Earles attended her obsequiously to the door.
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