"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. Shakily, she rose with the sword and drove it through Rhea’s heart. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. "It is," replied Sheppard. ' Will that do?" "It will," replied Trenchard.
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