"Devilish strange!" thought he, chuckling to himself; "queer business! Capital trick of the cull in the cloak to make another person's brat stand the brunt for his own—capital! ha! ha! Won't do, though. Yes, I think we have thoroughly thrashed that one out. But he sobered instantly as he recollected that O'Higgins had found Spurlock once. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. “You were really at Moulton House,” she exclaimed penitently. Annabel, tell me that you did not wish me dead. I only wish he was not a Papist and a Jacobite.
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