"You have saved his life," replied Blueskin. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. She answered slowly. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him. “I have come for an explanation,” she said. CHAPTER II.
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