"Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. But, when he got to the door with this intention, he became ashamed of his fears; and feeling convinced that Jack —bad as he might be—was not capable of such atrocious conduct as to plunder his benefactor twice, he contented himself with looking to the priming of his pistols, and placing them near him, to be ready in case of need, he threw himself on the bed and speedily fell asleep. Dinner was served at 5:30. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. He would have to probe further.
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