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 CHAPTER XXI.

I COME TO TYBURN TREE.

"Seven of the clock, your la'ship!"

I opened my heavy eyes, saw Emblem's pale face, then shuddered.

"Hope you've slept well," says the maid, in a way that told me that, whatever I had done, she certainly had not.

"Remarkably," says I, determined to practise for the terrible exhibition of fortitude that I must display. "If all those dear friends of mine have slept as properly, they will need to have less powder on than usual. And now, my Emblem," says I, taking the cup of chocolate from her, "mind that you dress me to the utmost of your art. Not a stitch must be out of place. My head-dress must be a marvel of perfection, and put 'em in a towering rage. And I'll wear the plum-coloured taffety, faced with pink. Or stay, I'll have a more sanguine colour; I think it should well consort with an interesting paleness."

"You have a black velvet that will do beautifully, my lady. Yet you do not wish to wear a mourning air?"

"No, girl," says I, "anything save that. Pale, but spirited, you know, as one who confronts ad