At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. A nine days’ wonder is soon forgotten. "You know my fixed determination," he added in a low tone, as he passed the carpenter.
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