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Updated: May 5, 2025
He bent over Carlson, exploring for his heart, fearing that he had killed him, indeed. His first efforts to locate a pulse were not assuring, but a feeble throbbing at last announced that the great ruffian's admirable machinery was stunned, not broken. "Open the door; he'll be all right in a little while," Mackenzie said. Mrs.
Jones having received his direction to the place, took his leave of the Man of the Hill, and, desiring him to direct Partridge the same way, returned hastily to the wood. Our heroe, at his departure to make this enquiry of his friend, had considered, that as the ruffian's hands were tied behind him, he was incapable of executing any wicked purposes on the poor woman.
But grant that she were swayed by us and by the argument that so to act would betray and kill her beloved grandfather, still, in resisting this ruffian's paternal authority, what violent and painful scenes might ensue! What dreadful publicity to be attached for ever to her name! Nor is this all.
He was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and the blood, trickling down his face, mingled with the foam on his lips, and dropped sluggishly on his hairy breast. Each time that an assailant came within reach of the swinging cutlass, the ruffian's form dilated with a fresh access of passion.
"May he not still be in danger from this ruffian's revenge?" she asked, looking up in sudden alarm. "I'm afraid that he will be," said Mrs. Burleigh, catching the infection of her fears. "I will have Mr. Burleigh see that he is kept away from this place."
They jostled me, and I reached for my sword, to make the discovery that I had forgotten it. Regaining my full senses, I struck the man nearest me a blow that sent him sprawling in the dirt. A blade gleamed under the sickly light of the fish-oil lamp overhead, but a man crashed through from behind and caught the ruffian's sword-arm and flung him back in the kennel.
He told me that, notwithstanding the most active search, no trace had yet been discovered of Bufferio's wife, nor of his companions. All of them must have left the country immediately after the ruffian's death. But this afternoon the bailiff expects to hear the result of several important researches ordered by him this morning.
'Holy Cross! exclaimed Gottlieb, low in his throat; 'the arms of Werner! Where got he money to mount his men? Why, this is daring all Cologne in our very teeth! 'Fend that he visit me now! Ruin smokes in that ruffian's track. I 've felt hot and cold by turns all day.
How write, or even how phrase his having merely breathed in his ruffian's hearing the wish that he might hear of her husband's defeat! And with what object? Here, too, a woman might, years hence, if not forgive, bend her head resignedly over the man's vile nature, supposing strong passion his motive. But the name for the actual motive? It would not bear writing, or any phrasing round it.
When Donacha struck or threatened him a very common occurrence he did not answer with complaints and entreaties like other children, but with oaths and efforts at revenge he had all the wild merit, too, by which Woggarwolfe's arrow-bearing page won the hard heart of his master: Like a wild cub, rear'd at the ruffian's feet, He could say biting jests, bold ditties sing, And quaff his foaming bumper at the board, With all the mockery of a little man.*
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