. ’ ‘Militia, miss,’ Kimble corrected her. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. “I shall never be able to thank you. " The girl fished into the bottle for an olive. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. " "To be opened in case of my death," added Spurlock.
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