"Oh gracious! he's lost." "Who's lost ?" demanded Ireton.
"The key," replied the widow.
All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual.

Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him.
"No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge.
"No," replied Jonathan, moodily.

"I've been deceived by false information.

But the wench who tricked me shall bitterly repent it.

I hope this is all.