"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. You called yourself a murderess. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. " "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. “Really, I do not know why I should have doubted it. On the other hand, there was a subconscious impression that she would be able to read instantly anything unclean in a man's eye. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him. "I sha'n't offer any of these to you two," he said; "but I know you won't mind me having an imitation king's peg. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do.
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