" "Ah," said Spurlock; "that kind of a man. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. We’re going in. Ennison paused by the little gate. He was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. " CHAPTER XIII. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. If I’d known, there would have been a different story.
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