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. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. "I am glad you think that," she replied.
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