Here Marvel, the executioner, who was in attendance, was commanded by Wild to tie his thumbs together, which he did with whipcord so tightly, that the string cut to the bone. Hastening in the direction of the sound, he discovered Thames Darrell, stretched upon the ground. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. "Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. .
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