The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. Thank him, not me, man. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. "So I did," retorted Mrs. "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. .
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