He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast. Take, if you please, your own pistol. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. "Where is your accursed master?" demanded Blueskin, holding the sword to his throat. Section 2. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess.
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