Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. "Upon him!" "Yield, villain, or die!" shouted Thames, drawing his sword and springing towards him. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. Great sport, eh? To haul them back from the ragged edge. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. ‘I knew it. Heard of your last escape.
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