Then, naturally, I went on talking. She found herself talking to Capes in an undertone of rational admission. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. 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. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. "But the past is irremediable, and I did not come hither to exculpate myself, I came to save your life," he added, turning to Thames. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name.
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