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A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. Jonathan kept his keen eye fixed upon him, as he addressed himself for a moment to the Hollander. " "Suppose he brings Blueskin, or some other ruffian with him," hesitated the jailer. " "What for?" demanded the turnkey. "Come on, my lads!" vociferated Blueskin, "we'll unkennel the old fox.
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