Darell's peculiar bent of mind was exemplified in a rusty broadsword, a tall grenadier's cap, a musket without lock or ramrod, a belt and cartouch-box, with other matters evincing a decided military taste. "Is this Jack Sheppard? Oh, la! I'm undone! We shall all have our throats cut! Oh! oh!" And she rushed, screaming, into the passage where she fell down in a fit. “It was perhaps my fault. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack. I've got an address here. I don't think he'll come to himself too soon. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that.
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