" "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. Vorsack echoed him. " "A capital caricature that," remarked Thornhill, laughing. Hist!’ he added, as he turned his head and noticed Alderley’s glance. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. It was not a long prayer. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of “Alcide” as he had first known her.
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