"I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. I'll turn cracksman, like my father—rob old Wood—he has chests full of money, and I know where they're kept—I'll rob him, and give the swag to you, Poll—I'll—" Jack would have said more; but, losing his balance, he fell to the ground, and, when taken up, he was perfectly insensible. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. "You poor child!—you can have all the dogs on the island, if you want them! Come along to the kitchen, and we'll give Rollo a tubbing. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. ” She raised her eyebrows.
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