" "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. He had abandoned his oars, and the boat was drifting with the stream towards the enemy. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. His arm fell to his side. I ——” He stopped short. "I've been robbed, maltreated, and nearly murdered by Jack Sheppard. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture.
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