"Ah, you black dog of hell, it is on your red sowl that many a murdher lies.

Murdher!" he exclaimed, in words that were thick, vehement, and almost unintelligible with rage.

"Ay, murdher is it?
It was a just God that put the words into your guilty heart--and wicked lips--prepare, your last moment's come--your doom is sealed--are you ready to die, villain ?" The whole black and fearful tenor of the baronet's life came like a vision of hell itself over his conscience, now fearfully awakened to the terrible position in which he felt himself placed.
"Oh, no!" he replied, in a voice whose tremulous tones betrayed the full extent of his agony and terrors.

"Oh, no!" he exclaimed.

"Spare me, whoever you are--spare my life, and if you will come to mo to-morrow, I promise, in the presence of God, to make you independent as long as you live.