One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “You seem to forget that my sister is—married. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. “No. Some foul murder has been committed. "No such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business.
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