"The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. "Zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. " "You have extradition papers?" "What sort of a detective do you think I am?" countered O'Higgins. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. " And, having partaken of a hasty breakfast, he set out. . ‘I have justice.
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