‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. Keep his arms down. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. Here the prisoners took exercise; and a quaint, but striking picture has been left of their appearance when so engaged, by the author of the English Rogue.
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