Wood," returned Jackson, with the utmost composure; "you're a headborough, and a loyal subject of King George. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared. As he proceeded, other painful reminiscences were aroused. I want him immediately, so you can send Frith with my phaeton if you like. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. "Saved!" "Ay, ay, it's all bob, my covey! You're safe enough, that's certain!" responded the Minters, baying, yelping, leaping, and howling around him like a pack of hounds when the huntsman is beating cover; "but, where are the lurchers?" "Who?" asked Wood. That is what I must do.
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