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Within that dungeon lay Captain Bew, Rumbold and Whitney—a jolly crew! All carved their names on the stone, and all Share the fate of the brave Du Val! With their chisels so fine, tra la! "Save us!" continued the apprentice, "I hope this beam doesn't resemble the Newgate stone; or I may chance, like the great men the song speaks of, to swing on the Tyburn tree for my pains. We were to live in some wretched London suburb. Has he given you the tools?" "He has," replied Bess, producing the handkerchief. After all, life had still its pulsations. She kept trying to shut her legs, to stop the baby from coming out. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. 1703.
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