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"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. "We shall see. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. ‘What are you going to do now, Gerald?’ He sipped his wine and shrugged. Suspicion was in his face. "By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. “And besides,” said Ann Veronica, sweeping that aspect aside, “what could I do? A boy sails out into a trade or profession. . ‘And your schooling?’ he pursued.
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