CHAPTER XII. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. The first of these, whom he addressed as Mr.
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