” Lucy gestured to the rough plywood floor. . The chapel was crowded to excess. Wild was formerly an agent to the Jacobite party, but, on the offer of a bribe from the opposite faction, he unhesitatingly deserted and betrayed his old employers. If I’d known, there would have been a different story. One only. On the other a wretched engraving of the Chevalier de Saint George, or, as he was styled in the label attached to the portrait, James the Third, raised a suspicion that the inmate of the house was not altogether free from some tincture of Jacobitism. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. On examination it proved to be a flat bar of iron, nearly a yard in length, and more than an inch square. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. Not afraid of me, either.
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