He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Berserker, Spurlock rose, head down, and charged. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night.
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