It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. Look at me, and answer me one question. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone.
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