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. She caught her finger in the lock and had to ask him to help pry it out. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. The terror faded from her eyes. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. Your father is very angry, and will not have her name mentioned in his hearing. The only part of his otherwise-interesting countenance, to which one could decidedly object, was the mouth; a feature that, more than any other, is conceived to betray the animal propensities of the possessor.
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