"Silence, fellow!" thundered Gerald Grantham, who now
came up from the hold, whither he had been to examine
the fastenings prepared for his prisoner. "How dare you
open your lips here?"--then pointing towards the steps
he had just quitted--"descend, sir!"

Never did human countenance exhibit marks of greater rage
than Desborough's at that moment. His eyes seemed about
to start from their sockets--the large veins of his neck
and brow swelled almost to bursting, and while his lips
were compressed with violence, his nervous fingers played,
as with convulsive anxiety to clutch themselves around
the throat of the officer; every thing, in short, marked
the effort it cost him to restrain himself within such
bounds as his natural cunning and prudence dictated.
Still, he neither spoke nor moved.

"Descend, sir, instantly!" repeated Gerald, "or, by
Heaven, I will have you thrown in without further ceremony
--descend this moment!"

The settler advanced, placed one foot upon the ladder,
then turned his eye steadfastly upon the officer. Every
one present shuddered to behold its expression--it was
that of fierce, inextinguishable hatred.

"By hell, you will pay me one day or t'other for this,
I reckon," he uttered, in a hoarse and fearful whisper--
"every dog has his day--it will be Jeremiah Desborough's