"Evidently he could not destroy these children of his. That’s who you ought to go and see, miss. Shot him, do you hear?” “Good God!” he exclaimed, looking at her curiously. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. Her head dipped deeply into the current, and she narrowly escaped being swamped. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. “He is not—I don’t like him.
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