"Who the demon cares? To perdition. I hope and trust, with all my
heart and soul!" cried Old Hurricane, with emphasis, as he
approached and looked down the opening.
"Uncle, what is below there?" asked Capitola anxiously, pointing
down the abyss.
"An old cellar, as I have told you long ago, and Black Donald, as
you have just told me. Hilloe there! Are you killed, as you deserve
to be, you atrocious villain?" roared Old Hurricane, stooping down
into the opening.
A feeble distant moan answered him.
"Oh, heaven! He is living! He is living! I have not killed him!"
cried Capitola, clasping her hands.
"Why, I do believe you are glad of it!" exclaimed Old Hurricane, in
astonishment.
"Oh, yes, yes, yes! For it was a fearful thought that I had been
compelled to take a sacred life! to send an immortal soul unprepared
to its account!"
"Well! his neck isn't broken, it appears, or he couldn't groan; but
I hope and trust every other bone in his body is! Mrs. Condiment,
mum! I'll trouble you to put on your bonnet and walk to Ezy's and
tell him to come here directly! I must send for the constable," said
Old Hurricane, going to the door and speaking to his housekeeper,
who, with an appalled countenance had been a silent spectator of all
that had passed.
As soon as the old woman had gone to do her errand he turned again,
and stooping down the hole, exclaimed:
"I say, you scoundrel down there! What do you think of yourself now?
Are you much hurt, you knave? Is everyone of your bones broken, as
they deserve to be, you villain? Answer me, you varlet!"
A low, deep moan was the only response.
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