"The plot's out!" cried Jack. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. ‘We were wondering about that. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door.
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