As soon as he had gained his feet, he glanced round the bare blank walls of the cell, and, oppressed by the musty, close atmosphere, exclaimed, "I'll let a little fresh air into this dungeon. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. ’ Fresh suspicion kindled in his breast. ’ ‘Comment? You wish to murder me?’ ‘No, I wish to beat you,’ he retorted. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. “No!” he said aloud at last. To-night all London believes that he was your husband. .
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