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She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. ” “Any place would be beautiful,” said Ann Veronica, in a low voice. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. "We have him!" cried Jonathan, hurrying down the steps. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate.
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