‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. Wood brought up. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. —I'll soon find you out. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation.
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