It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. . She knew very well that a new thing was stirring in her. With a loud shout, and headed by a powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed towards the vehicle. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders.
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