"Good night. ‘Hilary, thank God! Have you a pistol about you? Or better yet, your sword. . "If any one's to blame, it's me. Ramage. Nor my grandfathers both. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. On the cords being removed, he made a desperate spring at Wild, bore him to the ground, clutched at his throat, and would, infallibly, have strangled him, if the keepers had not all thrown themselves upon him, and by main force torn him off.
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