Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. "On that night,—in this room,—in your presence, Blueskin,— in yours Mr. I doubt I hold any interest for him anymore. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring.
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