"Because the prisoner's arrival might disturb you—ha! ha!" "I'll lay you twenty guineas you don't take him to-night," rejoined Austin. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. Mr. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. Her two new friends did their best to entertain her. " "He had better bring half-a-dozen," said the Amazon, taking up a cloth-yard wand, and quietly seating herself; "one won't do. “And this is Mr. "Shpeak up, vill you?" cried Abraham, rapping his knuckles against the hatch. The man could put a bullet through her before she could hope to reach any one of them. “That’s a weird name.
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