“I knew you would feel it,” said Miss Miniver, as they came away flushed and heated. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques. . But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. For what could be more ironical than for Howard Spurlock to see himself grow famous under the name of Taber? The ambrosia of which he had so happily dreamt!—and this gall and wormwood! He stood up and rapped his pipe on the rail.
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