"What's the matter?" repeated Mrs. Her first orders were to summon the rest of her servants to make immediate preparations for her departure for Lancashire. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. Everything was done in a genteel and ordinary way, but on the other hand, there was no lingering. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. He has no imagination, no real generosity. ” The maid discreetly withdrew, and Anna stood transfixed, gazing with puzzled frown at her sister. .
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