Blast you! but he--" "But he, what ?" inquired I, as the door opened and Mr.Blake with a pale face and agitated mien entered the room.
The wretch did not answer.

Rousing from the cowering position in which they had both lain since their capture, the father and son struggled up in some sort of measure to their feet, and with hot, anxious eyes surveyed the countenance of the gentleman before them, as if they felt their fate hung upon the expression of his pallid face.

The son was the first to speak.
"How do you do, brother-in-law," were his sullen and insulting words.
Mr.Blake shuddered and cast a look around.
"My wife ?" murmured he.
"She is well," was the assurance given by Mr.Gryce, "and in a room not far from this.

I will send for her if you say so." "No, not yet," came in a sort of gasp; "let me look at these wretches first, and understand if I can what my wife has to suffer from her connection with them." "Your wife," broke in the father, "what's that to do with it; the question is how do you like it and what will you do to get us clear of this thing." "I will do nothing," returned Mr.Blake.

"You amply merit your doom and you shall suffer it to the end for all time." "It will read well in the papers," exclaimed the son.
"The papers are to know nothing about it," I broke in.