"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. ‘Rather thought I’d have to disarm you when you heard of it. ” He was silent for some moments. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me.
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