The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. You know how stubborn they get. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. ” “Oh, you mean Mr. Saviours's stairs," answered Jonathan. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne.
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