" "Are you sure of that?" returned Winifred, looking uneasily at Jack. Should it e'er be my lot to ride backwards that way, At the door of the Crown I will certainly stay; I'll summon the landlord—I'll call for the Bowl, And drink a deep draught to the health of my soul! Whatever may hap, I'll taste of the tap, To keep up my spirits when brought to the crap! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of St. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens.
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