"Of robbery!" replied Jonathan in a thundering voice, and suddenly confronting him. But his daughter might well have a claim. "Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. Detention would mean coming home late, which spelled distraction and trouble on the night of a kill. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application.
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