"And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. ’ ‘He doesn’t sound like a desirable parti. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. CHAPTER XVI.
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