Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition. “The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town.
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