There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Only she sent me a message, and together we found a cottage for her to stay at. Every article in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recounting of the list by the doctor. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right.
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