" "With all his cunning, he may meet with his match," continued Kneebone, laughing. 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. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love.
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