Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. "If you get out o' that cage, I'll forgive you. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time. "Rowland," she rejoined, "you strive in vain to terrify me into compliance with your wishes. You’ll come along of me, for you’re under arrest, too. " "Run along, then. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. A robbery has been committed, and your master suspects this lad as an accessory to the offence.
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