"For the caption!" replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets. Truth to tell, more damage had been done in the enthusiastic chase carried out by the militiamen detailed to catch it. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. Sheppard. “Bless you, sweetheart. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest. .
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