‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. "Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. ” Ogilvy reflected. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. What a heat that news had wrought. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. dear. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly.
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