On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. "I am—I am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "God be thanked, I have found it!" "We have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. It was locked.
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