"Well, my pretty dears," he added, "—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack. God forgive you!" "May He, indeed, forgive me!" returned Trenchard, crossing himself devoutly; "but my guilt is not the less heavy, because your child escaped. "A little, Sir," replied the executioner, with a grim smile. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Ho-hum! CHAPTER IX The Hong-Kong packet lay alongside the warehouse frontage. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife.
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