Warding off the blows as well as he could with the bar, Jack struck both the horses on the head, and the animals plunged so violently, that they not only prevented their riders from assailing him, but also kept off the hostlers; and, in the confusion that ensued, Jack managed to spring over the fence, and shaped his course across the field in the direction of Sir John Oldcastle's. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. “Come on in. She pushed the former and it opened. "And equally easy to prove it," replied Jack, giving him the paper he had abstracted from Wild. "To Newgate," cried Jonathan, putting his head out of the window. "Stop!" groaned Blueskin. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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