Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. All right, I’m coming. "A friend," replied Jonathan, uncocking the pistol, and placing it in his pocket. Stunning and continuous, the din seemed almost to take away the power of hearing. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue.
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