The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. “Perhaps. ” “God send you may never repent it!” cried Capes. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties. 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. ” “I don’t want to,” said Manning. With a faint view of overtaking them the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace.
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