CHAPTER XXIX. Conceiving the opportunity too favourable to be lost, Jack sprang suddenly over the hedge, and before the man, who was floundering on the ground with one foot in the stirrup, could extricate himself from his embarrassing position, secured his pistols, which he drew from the holsters, and held them to his head. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said.
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