Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing further till morning. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. So I dare say I was christened Jack.
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