"Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. You are the High Priestess of Life. You’re a lady. Her pulses began to race. I've come to take you back home. The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself.
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