"Well?" he said, as Spurlock reached his side. 59 He was not present during the night the next morning, or the next, or the next. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro.
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