CHAPTER XVI Ah cum began to worry. It ran in rivulets down her face, penetrating her hood and the thick quilting of her coat. " "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. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. As she stared her eyes grew accustomed to the night; and she discovered five persons instead of four. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered.
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