The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. 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. She took to listening through closed doors. Abruptly she desisted, recoiled, and turned and fled up-stairs. " "Rely on me," rejoined the executioner, throwing away his pipe, which was just finished.
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