His chest heaved violently, and big tears coursed rapidly down his cheeks. Chapter XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters. She told you —the truth. “I mean to,” she replied. “Believe me, I know. Where the robber may cheer His spirit with beer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! III. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation.
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