Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. ’ Gerald did not speak, but there was a look in his face that made Melusine glad she had at last had the courage to confide in him. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. Adieu!" And, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after Jack. ‘Jacques! This—this bête he attacks me, and you stand there and you do nothing. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely.
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