"This young fool is come to restore the article—whatever it may be—which Lady Trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined. He has had brain fever since, and, as you say, I am more like what you were then than you yourself are now. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. You will be free to remarry, of course. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. "Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request. And so, the invasion really is to take place after all; and the Chevalier de Saint George is to land at the Tower with fifty thousand Frenchmen; and the Hanoverian usurper's to be beheaded; and Doctor Sacheverel's to be made a bishop, and we're all to be—eh?" "All in good time," returned Kneebone, putting his finger to his lips; "don't let your imagination run away with you, my charmer.
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