“I suppose all life is an affair of chances. "Friends!" echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. E. Better get back now! You be careful. Even now he was not at all sure that she was not playing with him. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof.
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