"But I soon shall be," returned Jack; "take these," he added, flinging the handcuffs against the wooden partition, "and wear 'em yourself. You're rich. " As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. His complexion was as blue as a sailor's jacket, and though Mr. ‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. She rode him gently.
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