The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got Wild in his clutches. "I've a good mind not to speak to you again, Sir!" cried Winifred, with difficulty repressing a tear of vexation; "you've acted unfairly. "But I give no information gratis!" "Speak, then," said Rowland, placing money in his hand. "My janizaries are within call," returned Wild.
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