THE RUBY OF KISHMOOR
have started more violently, nor have sat more rigidly and breathlessly staring.
Mastering his emotion with the utmost difficulty as Jonathan replaced the ball in his pocket, he drew a deep and profound breath and wiped the palm of his hand across his forehead as though arousing himself from a dream.
“And you,” he said, of a sudden, “are, I understand it, a Quaker. Do you, then, never carry a weapon, even in such a place as this, where at any moment in the dark a Spanish knife may be stuck betwixt your ribs?”
“Why, no,” said Jonathan, somewhat surprised that so foreign a topic should have been so suddenly introduced into the discourse. “I am a man of peace and not of blood. The people of the Society of Friends never carry weapons, either of offence or defence.”
As Jonathan concluded his reply the little gentleman suddenly arose from his chair and moved briskly around to the other side of the room. Our hero, watching him with
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