"But are you really there?" "No, I'm here," answered Jack, leaping down. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. He could not make good his hold. Within that dungeon lay Captain Bew, Rumbold and Whitney—a jolly crew! All carved their names on the stone, and all Share the fate of the brave Du Val! With their chisels so fine, tra la! "Save us!" continued the apprentice, "I hope this beam doesn't resemble the Newgate stone; or I may chance, like the great men the song speaks of, to swing on the Tyburn tree for my pains. My boys are all Sandwich Island born. The key is in my trousers. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too.
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