‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. "Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father.
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