Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. “I wonder if it is. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Call her Miss Pellissier, eh? I tell you she’s my wife, and I’ve got the certificate in my pocket.
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