"You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. "Here I am, Captain," cried a voice from without. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. “I believe so. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. Wood—" "That's false!" cried a voice behind him.
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