" "A miniature! Of whom?" "That I can't say," replied Jack, mysteriously. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. The unequal battle went on. Rumor in the Palazzo had it that her new doctor was a powerful archbishop from the south who conducted most of his dealings in secret. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. All we do is for your good. They were true noblemen, men of the court. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help.
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