This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. Not much. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again.
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