"I will die first," replied Mrs. Sheppard.
"You may die afterwards as soon as you please," retorted Jonathan; "but live till then you shall. I've sent for the priest."
"Mercy!" cried Mrs. Sheppard, vainly trying to discover a gleam of compassion in the thief-taker's inexorable countenance,—"Mercy! mercy!"
"Pshaw!" rejoined Jonathan. "You should be glad to be made an honest woman."
"Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. But kill me rather than commit this outrage."
"That wouldn't answer my purpose," replied Jonathan, savagely. "I didn't carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you."
"What motive can you have for so vile a deed?" asked Mrs. Sheppard.
"You know my motive well enough," answered Jonathan. "However, I'll refresh your memory. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth."
"My wealth," replied Mrs. Sheppard. "I have nothing."
"You are heiress to the Trenchard property," rejoined Jonathan, "one of the largest estates in Lancashire."