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"How goes it?" he began, heartily. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. While this was going on, Jack suddenly made a movement which attracted the turnkey's attention; and during that interval the old man slipped some articles wrapped in a handkerchief into Bess's hands, who instantly secreted them in her bosom.
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