There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Sebastian had known it was coming, but he could not avoid sleeping as easily as she could. "Well reminded," answered Rowland, who had witnessed his struggles with a smile of gratified vengeance; "I had forgotten the accursed imp in this confusion. ‘I do not see at all. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling.
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