CHAPTER VII.
The historian, in pursuance of his stern duties, reveals to the scorn of future ages some of the occult practices which discredit the march of light in the nineteenth century.
"May I come in ?" asked the Cobbler, outside the door.

"Certainly come in," said Gentleman Waife.

Sophy looked wistfully at the aperture, and sighed to see that Merle was alone.

She crept up to him.
"Will they not come ?" she whispered.

"I hope so, pretty one; it be n't ten yet." "Take a pipe, Merle," said Gentleman Waife, with a Grand Comedian air.
"No, thank you kindly; I just looked in to ask if I could do anything for ye, in case--in case ye must go tomorrow." "Nothing: our luggage is small, and soon packed.