"Rather a devil," groaned her son, "to have done this. But in a little while you will awake; and if there is a spark of manhood in you, you will be horrified at this day's work. It was still profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed the vapours hanging nearer the earth. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. Dunster shall fetch you a cab. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep.
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