‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection. It was now a quarter past twelve. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. “Well,” she admitted.
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