By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. May I ask the nature of your interest in her?” He hesitated. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. "Blueskin's a friend in need," he said. “One can’t tell. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer.
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