Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. ‘I can argue with him very well indeed. Take care he don't see you,—and bring me word where he goes, and what he does. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. "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. O'Higgins eyed it thoughtfully. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. But her heart kept on sinking.
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