At length the manager arrived; and together he and Ruth succeeded in getting some of the aromatic spirits of ammonia down the patient's throat. " "Exactly my sentiments," rejoined Blueskin. He refused to believe that Anna was not ‘Alcide. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night.
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