The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. "Good bye!" cried Jack, as if taking leave of his mistresses, "to-morrow, at the same time. " "What's the meaning of all this?" demanded Sir Cecil. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. ‘Parbleu, that pig, he will ruin all. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did not appear to relish the rating.
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