Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. " "Poor Jack!" exclaimed Thames. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. "Still," went on the manager, "they are slaves in a sense; they are bought and sold until their original indebtedness is paid. Easily. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern.
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