"As you please, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan, with affected indifference; "but I'm not going to hunt the deer for another to eat the ven'son, depend on 't. But you must leave us now, dear Winny, Jack and I have something to settle between ourselves. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. Mark you, she wasn’t the only one. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. But nobody drinks on my island unless I offer it, which is seldom. Ah, no, I have it wrong.
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