As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head. There's my thumb upon it. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. Casting a hasty glance, as he was about to turn an angle of the wall, at the great gates and upper windows of the prison, and perceiving no symptoms of pursuit, Jack proceeded towards the hovel at a very deliberate pace, carefully assisting his female companion over every obstacle in the road, and bearing her in his arms when, as was more than once the case, she sank from fright and exhaustion. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy.
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