"'Sblood! what's this!" cried Jonathan, in the utmost surprise. "I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. . It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. Don’t imagine that. If you had any idea what depths people have sunken to as you reside safely in this high fortress, you would search your soul to find the mote of charity left there. ” He would say every time she wore it. . And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters.
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