He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. “Ye Gods!” she said at last. Not like my father. Kneebone," she added, drawing up her magnificent figure to its full height, and making the heavy cudgel whistle through the air, "look to yourself. "The lash cuts to the bone. "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. .
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