" "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. \"How's it going, Lucy?\" She turned. She sensed that he was looking for her. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. But he held the smile until she turned away from the curtain. "You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs. “Kindly explain it to me. "I fear not," replied Jack, despondingly. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically. The rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. Jack replied in the negative, and it required all his mastery over himself to prevent the satisfaction which this announcement afforded him from being noticed by the jailer. His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit.
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