Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed. “Cool. Piano wire, stained with black rust from the horrible deeds she had committed. 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. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. I do not even know his name. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her.
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