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The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. ’ ‘I dare say you do,’ said the general, grim satisfaction overtaking his anger as his prophesy proved accurate. I freely forgive you. “It’s jolly,” he said, “to feel you have come to me.
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