"Right!—right!" cried Jack, striking his fettered hands against his breast. "They're about to murder your child —your child, I tell you! Do you comprehend what I say, Joan?" "I've hurt my head," replied Mrs. 1. " "That's right," replied Wild, with a ghastly smile. During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her. “Stop it!. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. That would be an unkind twist of fate.
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