Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. ‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. He turned me so that he could have a companion in his loneliness. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Then Capes’ footsteps approached.
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