"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. I wanted to have something to give up. She was quite assured that she would never see him again. When I went I was refused admittance. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. "Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. “A woman wants a proper alliance with a man, a man who is better stuff than herself.
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