He had heard the exclamation of Alice, he heard the threat of his comrade; he darted to the bedside, cast a hurried gaze upon Alice, and hurled the intended murderer to the other side of the room.
"What, man, art mad ?" he growled between his teeth.

"Don't you know her?
It is Alice;--it is my daughter." Alice had sprung up when released from the murderer's knife, and now, with eyes strained and starting with horror, gazed upon the dark and evil face of her deliverer.
"O God, it is--it is my father!" she muttered, and fell senseless.
"Daughter or no daughter," said John Walters, "I shall not put my scrag in her power; recollect how she fritted us before, when she run away." Darvil stood thoughtful and perplexed; and his associate approached doggedly with a look of such settled ferocity as it was impossible for even Darvil to contemplate without a shudder.
"You say right," muttered the father, after a pause, but fixing his strong gripe on his comrade's shoulder,--"the girl must not be left here--the cart has a covering.

We are leaving the country; I have a right to my daughter--she shall go with us.

There, man, grab the money--it's on the table;....

you've got the spoons.