"'And thine eye shall not pity,'" said her father, in a tone of rebuke, "'but, life shall be for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. I never forgive an injury. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. When she spoke, her lips twitched. A pair of long-lashed blue eyes studied them both as she slowly brought her hands down to rest by her sides. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Flinging her back against it, she put her hands out, barring his way. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray.
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