’ Lucilla sat up. As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman. . ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. . ” She fought to keep her teeth from chattering. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. . They don’t now. Still, I am curious.
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