Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. " "Do you happen to know Jonathan Wild, master?" inquired Jack, altering his tone, and assuming a more respectful demeanour. “How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered. While this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard.
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