Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. ‘I know that, miss. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. I will marry you when Sir John gets his divorce, and I will do all I can to keep you out of harm. " "The very face," exclaimed Gay, advancing to look at it;—"with all the escapes written in it. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII.
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