Larry Beck did his best to the flares of her temper from rising. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. Wood; "that's the surest way!" "No! no! give it me!" vociferated Wood, snatching the pistol, and rushing to the door, against which he placed his back. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge.
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