Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. But you must get him into the chair as fast as you can, and hurry off to Newgate. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. She leaned back in her chair. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told.
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