Wood, "it may be poisoned. It's two hundred pounds. "Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. "Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. "If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. I shall charge you five per cent.
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