He lives near the Black Lion. "Not a syllable," replied Wild. He did not write this with lead but with his heart's blood. "Lord, if I can only remember to write it exactly as you told it!" He jumped to his feet. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. For a time Spurlock did not move.
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