We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. . . Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. What was to hinder me, if I had been so inclined, from directing them to your retreat?" "Enough," replied Darrell. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. . " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little.
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