He patted the hand on his sleeve. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before. " "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. The whole affair interested him deeply. His commissions this day would not fill his metal pipe with one wad of tobacco. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. Wild," he added, as Jonathan came up, and assisted him to secure and disarm the prisoner. "For the caption!" replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols from his pockets.
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