Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

_ effort and freeing herself from his grasp. “ Help! - the demon. SPRING-HEELD JACK: Mrs. Jackson! Help!” - With the speed of terror she crossed the little room and flung open the door. . * For God's sake, don’t leave me here!” roared Bill, rushing after her. | But alarmed beyond measure, Ellen pulled the door to after her and sped quickly down the rickety stairs, screaming all the way. The frightened ruffian in his abject terror could not immediately find the handle to open the door, and when he did so, his hand shook so violently that he was unable for some moments to accomplish his object. “Oh! bring alight—bring a light!” he yelled, as he flung open the door. “ Here’s the de—— Murder! Murder!” . As the last words rang from his lips Bill Jack- son recoiled in horror back to the centre of the room, where he clasped his hands over his eyes, and sank wpon his knees. On the threshold of the doorway stood an object that might well have appalled a stouter heart than Bill’s —a form that would have shaken more powerful nerves than those which had already been weakened by drink, as were the now trembling and affrighted bully’s. It was that of a tall form, whose head and body glowed with a blue, phosphorescent fire, from the back of which hung, in graceful folds, a long striped cloak, like a tiger skin. It stood with its arms extended, thus throwing the cloak open in front, and revealing the fore part of the figure, over which the blue flames played, and appeared to curl upwards to the crown of the head. “ Mer—mer—mercy, Mr. Devil!” cried the kneeling man, still keeping his hands pressed over his eyes, to shut out the horrible form which now had the effect of completely sobering him. | The figure took a step towards him, extending its arms still wider, and then paused. “ Mortal,” it said. ‘© Mer—mer——!” began Bill. “6 Silence.” “ Yes—yes!”’ “ You did not expect to see me?” “ No—no! Dogoaway. Sa—sa—rah!” “ all not on her,’ said the horrible shape, in a deep guttural tone. “ She can aid you not. You are mine.” ‘‘Have mercy!” cried BIll; “I ain't fit to die!” “That’s the first time you ever spoke the truth,” said the apparent demon. “ You are not fit to die.” ‘No—no, not yet!”/ gasped Bill, slightly removing his hand from before his eyes, but replacing it with a cry, as he perceived the terrible form was bending over him. ‘Why should I suffer you to live?” asked “ Answer me that.” “ Be—because I’m a sinner!” cried Bill—“‘ a eat sinner.” nse, AN liar} Bill was silent. “¢ Answer me.” “ Yes—yes !” « A rogue }” TUE TERROR OF LONDON, 23 44 Yes.” “A callous-hearted scoundrel, who beats his wife, starves his children, and insults defence- less and unprotected women? Answer, or’ ‘¢ Yes—yes—yes!” exclaimed Dill, fearful that if he did not quickly reply the demon would bear him away to the place he so often consigned his own eyes and limbs. ‘‘ You are all these ?” cc I am.” ‘And yet you would ask mercy of me,” said the demon, ‘‘and for what?” That I may repent.” ‘* Repent ?” “< Yes.” | “Take your hands from your eyes, and look upon mie.” Bill tremblingly obeyed. ‘““ Now, answer me.” TY will.” * Truly ?” “So help my” “Hold! Mention that name, and” “ Mercy!” yelled Bill, shrinking even lower as the figure stretched forth its flaming hand to- wards him, ‘“ Beware how you tempt me to consign you to a place that should be nameless,” said the demon. ‘¢T will—upon my soul, I will.” “Enough. What do you in this room ?” “T came for my rent.” “Do you pay your own.” “ Sometimes.” “Not always?” Woy “ How much is owing you?” ‘“‘ Five weeks ; seven and sixpence,” answered Bill. “ And how much do you owe ?”’ Bill again trembled. “Quick, and speak truly. You cannot deceive me,” said the figure, again raising its hand. ‘¢ Seven months,” cried Bill, in a low voice, Can you pay it?” — “ No.” “Do you ever intend to pay it?” Ves,” “ The truth—or tremble!” No,” “ And yet you would take goods entrusted to your lodger for the paltry sum she is unable to pay. You would deprive her of her livelihood, and perhaps her liberty, to obtain a few shillings to squander in debauchery, while your wife and children ask for bread. Are you a man? No, you are but a foul blot upon the title—a diserace to this world—a thing unworthy even a place in my regions. But in consideration of the benefit it will confer upon your wife and family in par- ticular, and on society in general, I will rid them of your presence, and bear you to a place where aA “ Murder—mur—help! Sarah—Miss Folder, everybody, help! Oh, don’t! For mercy’s sake do have pity on me!” shrieked Jackson, flinging himself flat on the floor, and rolling about in an agony of terror. ‘“ Come,” said the horrible form, stooping down, and laying one hand on Bill’s shoulder. —_—-. (fo) MIEGVOOKS com