" "A secret!" exclaimed Trenchard. ” “Well, he was presumptuous,” Annabel remarked, “and he wasn’t nice about it. You have set out to do something which is neither God's way nor man's. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. "And who taught it you—the landlord, Joe Hind?" "No; one Blueskin, a fellow who frequents the Lion," answered Jack, with a degree of candour that astonished his master nearly as much as his confidence. \"Are you aware that every girl in Princeton Hills would kill for a chance at him? I think it's simple. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. E. “Are you serious?” “You know very well that I should never joke on such a subject. Jack was a comical scoundrel, and made a little too free with his grace's best burgundy, as well as his grace's favourite housekeeper.
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