At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. "Old Morgan the trader," she explained, "used to save me Tit-Bits. ” Lucy blinked from the winter sunlight and reached behind herself to yank at her hood. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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