Her clock had stopped—stopped at the very hour on which she had quitted the Mint! She had not the heart to wind it up again. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. She crept out of the shadows. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. Blueskin drew the knife across his throat a second time, widening and deepening the wound; and wrenching back the head to get it into a more favourable position, would infallibly have severed it from the trunk, if the officers, who by this time had recovered from their terror, had not thrown themselves upon him, and withheld him.
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