" "Thieves!" exclaimed Mrs. Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat. " "I, a thief?" "Aye; thief, Roundhead and all. "Another such attempt," said the latter, "and you are a dead man. She held out both her hands. \" He said with a question in his voice, a question that revealed that he was intimidated, and not only that, but he had it bad. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words.
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