Take, if you please, your own pistol. " As this was said, Jack turned with the swiftness of thought, and shortening his sword, prepared to plunge it into the thief-taker's heart. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. Let me lend you some money. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. Mike knocked on the door. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order.
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