‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. "What do you mean?" cried Winifred in alarm. He did not think of her as a killer, he could barely conceive it. She had agonized over it for weeks. I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat.
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