Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 123: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SPRING-HEEL’D JACK: THE TERROR OF LONDON. “ Woman, I say!” * Would I could address you as man!” she cried. ‘* That title you have forfeited. Wretch you may be, but man you are not.’’ The ruffian bit his lips and ground his teeth ~ - together. e longed to strike, yet feared to inflict the blow. , “Hold your taunting tongue,” he cried, fiercely, “ or I will still it for ever.’ : “You have the courage to break a woman’s heart, Richard Clavering, but not to still its pangs. You can strike only with such weapons as leave no blood behind, and at such parts as are hidden from the gaze of mankind, for a dagger planted in my bosom, or a blow that would rid me of life hands you over, to justice ; but you stab at the inmost recesses of my soul with your forked tongue, and crush out my existence by your cruel contempt and cold indif- ference. Therefore I repeat, you are a coward. You dare not slay me by other means, lest you ‘in turn should suffer.” Clavering rested his hand on the back of a chair, and, extending his arm, shook his fore- finger in her face. “ Hark you, Jessie Bolton,” he said. “ Clavering, sir. I am your wife—yes, the wife of a Clavering and a scoundrel—no proud name to bear; but as ’tis legally mine, I'll wear it,” exclaimed the indignant woman, drawing her thin form proudly to its full height. | ‘‘Wear it,” he cried fiercely, ‘‘ but it shall not be for long.” » “Will you slay me?—release me from this wretched life }” , “Ay.” . “Then strike!” “Fool! you are not rope,” he sneered. “Vou can strike only with the tongue.” “But deeply.” - ““ Indeed, yes.” | , | “And with that weapon will I rid myself of your hated presence, and my name of the foul stain upon it,” he ejaculated. “Hark you! Jessie Bolton, for I acknowledge you not ” | ‘“T am your wife,” she interrupted. “Then, by heaven ! shall you ‘be my slave!” he cried, suddenly; “and the slave of those whom I respect. If you will persist in being my wife, you must admit you are to be obedient to my will.” | ‘“T have never denied it,” she said. Richard—never.” “ And never will ?” c¢ No.” ; “Then, hark you, Jessie Clavering—I wonder the word does not blister my tongue as I utter it—I shall bring home a lovely and amiable girl in a few days—a charming creature who has won my love and reciprocates my affection. You will please to remember that it is the duty of a wife to obey her husband, and therefore my com- mands to you are, that you tend and wait upon her at every turn, humour her every wish, pander to her every desire, for my love for her is so strong you must deny me aber You hear me, Jessie Clavering 7—and you'll heed me, worth the risk of the “¢ Never, _And he drew back a paceas he spoke, or rather hissed these words, and looked into her face with a look which only a fiend could conjure up. Had a barbed arrow sank into the heart of that woman, it could not have caused her to start so fiercely, look so wildly, or thrilled her to the very marrow. For a moment Richard’s words prostrated her quite. Her little strength appeared to be deserting her. Her limbs seemed to give way beneath her body. Her brain became dizzy—reason appeared to be tottering from its throne—she felt she was going mad—that the climax to his cruelty had come. But in a short time she shook off the feeling. By a violent and almost supernatural effort she roused herself. The pallor fled from her face, and a blood-red flush stole over her cheeks. Her trembling lips were compressed tightly together. er nostrils expanded. The eye flashed with a fire he had never before observed, and her blue veins stood out like cords on her forehead. A moment before she was the pale, trembling, spirit-crushed, heart-broken woman—now she . was the injured and insulted wife—outraged in every sense and feeling by the man above all others who should shield and love her. The look she fixed upon the mean-spirited wretch before her cowed his very soul. His eye dropped beneath her steady gaze. His heart sank as she took one step towards him, and he almost shrieked with fear as her long white fingers clutched his wrist. The tones of her voice cut like daggers through his ears, as in accents of such bitter contempt she cried— “Dastard!—dog !—hound !—this to me !—me, your wife! Speak not this again to me! for the strength of fifty men are in my arms, and I will crush you—cur that you are !—crush you beneath my feet! Me, your wife!—the slave of—oh, God! shield him from my fury!” : She flung him from her as if fearful she would fulfil her threat, and anxious to shield her soul from the crime of murder. Then, again, she was the meek and helpless thing his treatment had made her. The paroxysm of rage left as quickly as it had seized upon her, and she burst into sobs, tottered along the floor as if under the influence of some powerful narcotic, and fell upon the sofa, helpless, hopeless, and despairing. Burying her face in her hands she rocked her body to and fro, while her bosom rose and fell like a stormy sea. She had suffered much indignity from the man before her—the man she called husband—but never such as this. Never had her soul been so outraged—never had a pang so acute been inflicted upon her heart. Spite of his treatment, she felt that she coulda still love and revere him if he would treat her with kindness. ‘There had been a lingering hope in her bosom that brighter days were in store for her. 125 —_— o. SS comichbooks*co: Et ae ho err eee