‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously. After debating with himself for some time whether he should employ an assistant, or make the attempt alone, his love of gain overcame his fears, and he decided upon the latter plan. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. "I will live," cried Blueskin, with a look of the deadliest hatred at Wild, "to be revenged on you.
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