Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. ’ The lady uttered a scornful sound. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. "I eat for both. “She must look forward to Italy. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up. It's as strong, if not stronger, than this.
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