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He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. Lucy knocked again. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. Damn! I’ve splashed. “Oh, Lucy. "What's that?" demanded McClintock. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. Or, if you must take off my clothes, don't dash cold water on my head. But it looked as if the boy was not going to be of much use. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated.
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