And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis. Amid the confusion, Shotbolt sprang to his feet, and levelling a pistol at Jack's head, commanded him to surrender; but, before any reply could be made, the jailer's arm was struck up by Blueskin, who, throwing himself upon him, dragged him to the ground. "Never throw away a chance," thought Jonathan. As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder. "All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically.
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