" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. This done, he unloosed the pulley, and the ponderous machine, which resembled a trough, slowly descended upon the prisoner's breast. He had hurt her. I won’t even ask. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. However, I'd rather have a blow from the daughter than the mother. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. Baffled in their attempt, the mob uttered a roar, such as only a thousand angry voices can utter, and discharged a volley of missiles at the soldiery. " A peculiar smile illuminated Jack's features.
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