"And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. ‘He wanted me also to run away with him, and I wish very much that I had done so. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. Come. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. She had come to the end of her resources.
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