But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. “Who?” She asked. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. Well, I've had to be. "I mean what I say," replied Jonathan. .
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