There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. But it was hopelessly hard to put. "Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night.
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