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The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. I will not be persecuted in this way by you. "Of course, therefore," pursued Jonathan, "you are acquainted with all the leaders of the proposed insurrection,—nay, must be in correspondence with them. He stood before her. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie.

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