A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Spurlock felt very well pleased with himself. Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. If you attempt to play the traitor, you will do so at the hazard of your life. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially.
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