"Fiddlesticks! You will neither betray me, nor will I be put to the torture: on the contrary, you will give me your best jewels and facilitate my escape to the fort.

Don't grind your teeth and swear at me.

Listen, madam : you know this dress and these arms;--they are the arms of your husband, Bobbachy Bahawder--MY PRISONER.

He now lies in yonder fort, and if I do not return before daylight, at SUNRISE HE DIES: and then, when they send his corpse back to Holkar, what will you, HIS WIDOW, do ?" "Oh!" said she, shuddering, "spare me, spare me!" "I'll tell you what you will do.

You will have the pleasure of dying along with him--of BEING ROASTED, madam: an agonizing death, from which your father cannot save you, to which he will be the first man to condemn and conduct you.