"I told you the prison wasn't built that could hold me," cried Jack. "Devilish nice ham you've got here!—capital pie!—and, as I live, a flask of excellent canary. "My portrait!" echoed Jack. Before proceeding to Wych Street, he called at the Lodge to see how matters were going on, and found Mrs. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Descending the hollow, or rather excavation,—for it was an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated,—he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed Edgeworth Bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return,—to all which Black Mary readily agreed,—he departed with a heart lightened of half its load. He sent me flowers. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely.
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