An uncomfortable silence followed. " "Miscreants!" cried Sheppard, almost driven frantic by the violence of his emotions; "you're all in league with him. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. Though," said the thieftaker, with a complacent smile, "all the world seems to tremble at it. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Humph!" "What's the matter?" "Sh!" Spurlock passed by on the way to the bar. It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive.
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