"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. “You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. If he succeeds there, I do not know how I can prove myself. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. That's part of the bargain. ” “Is it necessary to send for the police?” Anna asked. I knew it.
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