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. I'll try the effect of a jolly stave. They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard. Could you pull over? She asked. Jack, whose back was towards it, did not see it; but he heard, from the pitying exclamations of the crowd, that it was in view. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her.
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