The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. ‘Keep your distance! You dare to tell me I cannot refuse?’ He glared at the girl. " "He's let out for a few hours," laughed Kneebone; "but he's going back again after supper.
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