’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. Giving him a wide berth, and keeping her pistol high, she made her way to the door and warily peered through it. "I disbelieve the whole story you have told me. Jonathan Wild?" asked the attendant, in great trepidation. \" He leaned at a steeper pitch. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. 1.
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