"Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. With Jack so badly injured, how would she get him home? How get herself home, now that Trodger had arrested her. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. A robbery has been committed, and your master suspects this lad as an accessory to the offence. Mr.
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