Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. " "Worth anything?" "I don't know. On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. Nothing is wrong that you do.
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