"Then you'll never know more than this," retorted Blueskin, with a grin of satisfaction;—"they're in a place of safety, where you'll never find 'em, but where somebody else will, and that before long. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. Too many. So long as she stood beside him, he was safe. . Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter.
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