"You cannot make it."
"I can if you will give me your oar for a step."
"I will."
In a few minutes she was on land. Pausing then to toss the gold piece to the boatman, she heard his thanks, and started hastily for the gate. Within the Cynegion, she fell in with some persons walking rapidly, and talking of the coming event as if it were a comedy.
"He is a Russian, you say?"
"Yes, and what is strange, he is the very man who got the Prince of India's negro"—
"The giant?"
"Yes—who got him to drown that fine young fellow Demedes."
"Where is the negro now?"
"In a cell here."