"It is your son. How many ends had he? Well, she must cease to trouble herself for this imbecile, whom it would give her very much pleasure to shoot. For a time I didn't know we'd ever find you. God knows how you did it. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. 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. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. CHAPTER XXVI.
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