Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. Huge trees obscured the view of it. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. \" He piped up. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. .
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