Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. " "Not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted Jack, fiercely; "but I've my knife. I do not wish for you to see me feed. "And, now,—to Newgate. When I've placed another skull and another halter beside them, I shall be contented.
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