A sudden knock at the door startled her. “There are a good many Whites in London. I can get that at the bar," the manager said, curtly. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. Sheppard, and saw from her terrified look that she had made the same alarming discovery as himself. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat.
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