Wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered was Thames Darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in his blood. "If you loiter in this way, old Wood will catch us. "Can you pull him through?" was the anxious question. Sir John hesitated. . . ‘Gabbling and muttering in a foreign tongue, that’s what I heard, sir,’ had declared the gap-toothed ancient, when he told them of the initial foray he had made, sneaking around the house in the dark. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. I think that nearly every manager in London has made me an offer.
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