A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. "Why shouldn't a Chinaman be honest? Ah, yes; I know. . "I can never get poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to stupify myself somehow. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose.
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