Amid the confusion, Shotbolt sprang to his feet, and levelling a pistol at Jack's head, commanded him to surrender; but, before any reply could be made, the jailer's arm was struck up by Blueskin, who, throwing himself upon him, dragged him to the ground. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain.
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