Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. .
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