But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Death belongs to God, young man. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. ” “You are wonderful!” she murmured. 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. If this is the young lady, she can perhaps calm him. She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. Yes, it was Manningtree really secured your father. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. Nothing would stop her, and she was prepared to face the consequences.
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