" "We'll see that, young hempseed," replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it. Then Sheila noticed the stains. She covered herself with her arms. Danger, the most terrible she had ever faced, was substantially in this room. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. Parbleu, but I will certainly kill him this time. The rest.
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