ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. “I do not blame him. After this occurence, not a word was exchanged between them until they came in sight of the sloop, which was lying at anchor off Wapping. But threats and entreaties—even promises were ineffectual; and the unlucky captive, after exhausting his powers of persuasion, was compelled to give up the point.
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