"What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. ’ ‘Woof!’ uttered the sergeant, jumping back. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow. ’ ‘It cannot be helped now.
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