He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. She was weeping now. He sent me home. "Remember!" cried Quilt, as he forced the captive along. “No, I am alone,” she answered. “Before you do anything else I should advise you to secure those charred fragments of paper from the grate. This won’t do.
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