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Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. He had been hard since they had taken their clothes off. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. "We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred," he began,—"for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name,—we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere. I believe—I believe that I must risk it. To simplify matters, he carried a coloured paper lantern upon which his license number was painted in Arabic numerals. " "I care not why you did it," said Jack, sternly. "The feeling is dead within my breast. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. " "Shall I tell you a real story?" "Something you have seen?" "Yes. " He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrust them under her arm.
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