" "Heaven support me!" cried Mrs. “I want a plain word with you about all this. But I'll be more lenient, and content myself with merely chastising you, on condition—" "You may do as you please, master," interrupted Jack, thrusting his hand into his pocket, as if in search of the knife; "but I wouldn't advise you to lay hands on me again. But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. Returning in moments, Mr. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery.
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