A species of vertigo seized him. While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. " "Who's lost?" demanded Ireton. " "You'll do a national service, then," said Hogarth. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. But don't let my name frighten you.
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