" "Not in the least," replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; "there's my staff. " "That's the way it goes. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. ’ She set down her glass with a snap. " "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred. She felt the thrill race through her body. . The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. The decision had been sound. "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street.
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