"Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising. 5. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. You understand. "First take the child," cried Darrell, holding up the infant, and clinging to the oar with a dying effort.
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