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“The rest,” she said, holding tightly to his hands, “is the most important of all. “Let’s go in here. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. 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. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. In the pause she realized the attention of the others converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. CHAPTER VII.
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