"To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. "So get up, and leave off whimpering. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. "Have you sent off the note?" inquired Jack. And how comes his cloak on this knave's shoulders?" "It is his cloak, of a surety," returned Rowland "Harkye, sirrah," continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; "where is the person from whom you received this mantle?" "Throttling a man isn't the way to make him answer questions," replied the carpenter, doggedly. I believe—I believe that I must risk it.
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