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The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III. I MUST. V.
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