Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. Not so bad. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. He knows everything. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. Luckily, Sir James was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture escaped him. I wonder if a man can quite understand that passionate feeling? It is quite a passionate feeling.
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