Wait a second. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. The doors of several of the wards were thrown open for these parties, and as Jack passed, he could not help glancing at the wretched inmates. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. "Off with you to Newgate!" cried Jack, "and don't let him out till you get inside the Lodge. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning.
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