But I'll be more lenient, and content myself with merely chastising you, on condition—" "You may do as you please, master," interrupted Jack, thrusting his hand into his pocket, as if in search of the knife; "but I wouldn't advise you to lay hands on me again. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. ‘If you love me, you will say it, or else I will blow off your head. Before you have lived—” He became darkly prophetic. .
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