She caught my hand convulsively, turned her lips to my ear, whispered in a deep, low voice, “Ten paces further, and you are murdered!” and bounding from my side, vanished in the darkness, leaving me the most confounded gentleman that ever followed that will-o’-the-wisp—a woman.
CHAPTER XXII. I ESCAPE—BUT MR. SLOMAN MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT.
“Malcolm. This murderous shaft that’s shot,
Hath not yet lighted; and our safest way
Is, to avoid the aim.”
“For ‘tis the sport, to have the engineer
Hoist with his own petar.”
Shakspeare.