. Taking his new purchase under his arm, Jack proceeded to a small tavern in the same street, where, having ordered dinner, he went to a bed-room to attire himself. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out. "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men.
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