His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. “I don’t think I shall. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. Before morning, unless, we can effect an escape, you'll be kidnapped, or murdered, and your disappearance attributed to the negligence of the constable. Of course, if at any time—see reason—alter your opinion. Mike chimed in. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. I suspect he has a bit of vanity.
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