" "Be it so," replied Jack, putting up his blade. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. ” “I know—” said Ramage, with sympathy. " "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust.
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