Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. Her shoulders began to ache. Then blackness. A sarcastic smile seemed to play upon the chief-taker's lips; and abashed at his own irresolution, the lad went on. " "Fool!" cried Wild, taking up the body, "what are you afraid of? After all," he added, pausing, "he may be of more use to me alive than dead. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. ’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back.
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