Jonathan stepped behind a curtain. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. The manager twisted his moustache. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III.
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