” He sighed. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. I don’t want to stop your singing. I am quite sure that I do not know you. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. E.
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