"This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. You're in a more serious scrape than you imagine. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. ” “Not in the least,” she assured him. “Well,” he said at last slowly, “I’ll pay it. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. And your great-niece. ’ ‘Not if you want one of good family, no,’ he agreed mildly.
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