" "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. It was a sort of cooking-room, with an immense fire-place flanked by a couple of cauldrons, and was called Jack Ketch's Kitchen, because the quarters of persons executed for treason were there boiled by the hangman in oil, pitch, and tar, before they were affixed on the city gates, or on London Bridge. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal. " "Mend!" echoed Mrs.
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