A few words passed between him and the thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party—with the exception of Quilt, who was left on shore —embarked within the wherry, which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream—for the tide was in its favour—by a couple of watermen. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. . ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. The walls were of immense thickness; the small windows double-grated and unglazed; the fire-place was without a grate; and a barrack-bed, divided into two compartments, occupied one corner. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved.
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