" "My strength fails me," gasped the fugitive. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. But what did he know beyond these facts? Nothing, clearly. Kneebone began to dispense the fragrant fluid; begging Mrs. F. Stir a foot, and I strike. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked.
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