"Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. She was thinking fast now, all her senses on the alert. "Not exactly," answered Jonathan, drily. Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. It was dated from the House of Commons on the previous day. ‘But lay him down. "If I am the devil," observed Wild, "as some folks assert, and I myself am not unwilling to believe, you'll find that I differ from the generally-received notions of the arch-fiend, and faithfully execute the commands of those who confide their souls to my custody.
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