Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. " "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. But I shan't let him off thus. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. "Ah!" exclaimed Wild, looking angrily towards his supposed attendant. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends.
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