The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. . After all, this could never be the black sheep. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. She watched, puzzled, as her cavalier frowned at the newcomer, glancing from him to Melusine and back again. But, let's see the prisoner. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. .
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