CHAPTER XI. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. “My only answer would be to ask you to look at that mirror and then at the poster. He drew compellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of this melancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not hold them. Anybody in pain had only to call to him. "In Canton. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. I'm a slave to my word.
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