David Courtlaw. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. I'm crazy over music, too. Arrived beneath an aperture in the broken roof, he was preparing to pass through it, when he observed a little heap of tiles upon the floor, which appeared to have been recently dislodged. He walked on for an hour longer, till he could scarcely drag one leg after another.
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