’ ‘But this is idiot. Full twenty highwaymen blithe and bold, Rattled their chains in that dungeon old; Of all that number there 'scaped not one Who carved his name on the Newgate Stone. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. The violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang. I thought you understood.
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