The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan. “Dear husband,” she murmured. "I am an officer in the execution of my duty. It was not for a week or a month. We are expecting a visit from Sir John Ferringhall at any moment. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. " And before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed Shotbolt. I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it.
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