“You’ve got my view,” he said, after a pensive second. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. But he promised to give me a couple of guineas if I'd ascertain whether it fitted your locks. " "You'll never live to see that day," cried Blueskin, fixing a menacing look upon him. I—listen. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself.
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