He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. She blew on the hand cannon and grabbed her bag of gunpowder. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. David left this afternoon. "That's not an easy question to answer," rejoined Blueskin.
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