Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. Jack paused for a moment, and found that his own adventures formed the subject of the ballad. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. “You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness.
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