‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. Wood, by whom it was formerly occupied. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke.
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