But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. " "What am I to do to earn it?" asked Blueskin, with a disgusting leer,—"cut a throat—or throw myself at your feet—eh, my dear?" "Give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity. Hurrying on, his progress was soon checked by a strong door, several inches in thickness, and nearly as wide as the passage. "I expect a very extraordinary person to supper, Rachel," he remarked.
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