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You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. Wood governs me?" "It's plain you can't govern yourself, at all events," replied Jack coolly; "but, be that as it may, I won't be struck for nothing. If you can’t see as how there ain’t nothing in this barrack of a place to help me do the job, I can. ” A dull flush burned upon his cheeks. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. —You've your answer, Blueskin," he added, pushing that individual, who seemed unwilling to depart, towards the door; "it's useless to urge the matter further.
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