With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. ’ A little sigh escaped her. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. The Reaper is not sated yet. I just suppose it isn’t worth the trouble. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him.
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