The small Diedermayer clan was a captive audience. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. " "She is a matchless creature!" exclaimed the young man. There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. Common offences may be decided upon by deputy; but outrages perpetrated by men of rank, as these appear to be, must be judged by the Master of the Mint in person. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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