58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. " "No. \" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. Wood heard the cry. There was no light in the room; but, notwithstanding this, the young man did not fail to detect the buxom figure of Mrs. ‘Beg your pardon, ma’am, but she’s enough to try the patience of a saint. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. The last time Pottiswick had called out the militia on suspicion of intruders in Remenham House, a large rodent had been all the spoil.
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