To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. "Enough!" exclaimed Wild, triumphantly. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Without Jack, it was certain that she faced danger if she went outside Golden Square. "Certainly," replied Jonathan, with the most perfect sangfroid, "I'll undertake to free you from the boy.
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