The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. Like a hare closely pressed, Jack attempted to double, but the device only brought him nearer his foes, who were crossing the field in every direction, and rending the air with their shouts. ’ ‘Bon,’ exclaimed Melusine, triumph soaring. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup.
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