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But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. He had taken it back. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. I am on my way to an aunt who lives in Hartford, Connecticut. ’ He grimaced. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason. I will shed no more blood. “I must repeat,” Sir John said, “that I much regret disturbing you at such an unseemly hour. unless a copyright notice is included.
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