“It’s my fault. Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. Majorities, right or wrong, dare not revolt. Wild in his own domain. "But we'll find a way to make you open your lips presently. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. But she was relentless. Consternation gripped him. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did.
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