The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. "Again," cried Jonathan, sternly: "beware!" "What!" vociferated Trenchard. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. With the last glimmer of decency he had sent the daughter to his sister. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders.
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