"Wretch!" cried Jack. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. ‘Get the swords!’ ‘I’ll see to him. They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “I’m sorry Mister McCloskey! I was out seeing my boyfriend!” He stared at her concernedly.
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