The Works of George W. M. Reynolds — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

18 REYNOLDS’ WORKS brat — the eldest, of course — walked by the side of the maid who was carrying her sister. There was I, hid safe enough in the midst of a clump of trees, watching my oppor- tunity to spring, just like a wild beast in one of those Indian jungles that I used to read about when I was at school. Well, the nurse-maid carrying the baby came on in front, and the other lagged behind. The very thing that I wanted; nothing could be better. So I waited till the maid with the baby had rounded the clump of trees, if you understand, in such a way that she was hid by them from the view of her companion. Then I sprang out, with a black mask over my face. My eyes, what a squeal the girl gave! And as I snatched the child from her, she dropped down just as if she was shot. Whether she was killed stone-dead with fright, or only fell into a swoon, I don’t know,’ added Chiffin, coolly, “‘ and don’t much care. You may depend upon it, I didn’t wait to see.”’ “Go on, go on,’”’ said Ralph, with feverish impatience. “Ah! I did go on then, too,” continued the Cannibal, with a erin. “‘ You should have seen me scud along the bank of the river with the child in my arms, that’s all. I don’t suppose I looked very paternal, though. However, there I was, cutting along at a breakneck rate; but soon reaching a wood, I stopped and rested myself. Then I cut away again; and when I thought that everything like pursuit was im- possible, and that I might put the finishing stroke upon the business where I was, | just poured half a dozen drops of that stuff down the child’s throat, and, by jingo! it was all over with it in a moment.” “Ah!” slowly said Ralph Farefield, letting the deep breath of suspense escape him. ‘ Then you really have done “ Why, didn’t I tell you so at the very first? ’’? demanded Chiffin the Cannibal, his hollow tones now filled with a — savage growl, as if he thought that he was suspected. “ You don’t think, do you, that a chap like me would mind making mince-meat of a baby like that when it’s necessary? ” “No, no, I did not mean to offend you,”’ Farefield hastened to observe. “Why, it’s enough to hurt one’s dignity,” still growled Chiffin, ‘‘ to think for a moment that one wouldn’t do such a miserable little bit of business as that.”’ CONNIE OO KS (E(0)