Oh, pray for me, Nancy Rouse!' With that, I tries to pray in my dream, and screams instead, and wakes myself.

Oh, Mr.Penfold, do tell me, have you got any news of the _Proserpine_ this morning ?" "What is that to you ?" inquired Arthur Wardlaw, who had entered just in time to hear this last query.
"What is it to me!" cried Nancy, firing up; "it is more to me, perhaps, than it is to you, for that matter." Penfold explained, timidly, "Sir, Mrs.Rouse is my landlady." "Which I have never been to church with any man yet of the name of Rouse, leastways, not in my waking hours," edged in the lady.
"Miss Rouse, I should say," said Penfold, apologizing.

"I beg pardon, but I thought Mrs.might sound better in a landlady.

Please, sir, Mr.Wylie, the mate of the _Proserpine,_ is her--her--sweetheart." "Not he.

Leastways, he is only on trial, after a manner." "Of course, sir--only after a manner," added Penfold, sadly perplexed.
"Miss Rouse is incapable of anything else.