The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. I meant to give him a drubbing. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take you up on that. What was to hinder me, if I had been so inclined, from directing them to your retreat?" "Enough," replied Darrell. You’re a little late, you must remember, and we are punctual people here. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. '—'Oh! yes we are,' says he. But you belong to me—and I want you. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly.
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