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Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at the soldiery. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. Purney's hand-writing," said Jack, advancing, "and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not. "Ah! what is that?" he cried, pointing to a dark object floating near them amid the boiling waves, and which presented a frightful resemblance to a human face. "It is time you should know whom you have to deal with.
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