A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. Exerting all his energies, and using the bar as a lever, he forced off the iron band, which was full seven feet high, seven inches wide, and two thick, and which brought with it in its fall the box of the lock and the socket of the bolt, leaving no further hinderance. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. After several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. "Of yourself," he replied, in a mournful tone. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour.
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