"Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; "but fly—save yourself. There was a recurrence of fever, but nothing alarming. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. ‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. Over these hung levels, bevels, squares, and other instruments of measurement. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot.
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