"Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. Spurling," rejoined Ireton; "we can taste the rum when he returns. Come, mon ami, come!’ Ever faithful, Kimble dragged himself into a sitting position, gasping at the pain this caused him. "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. But Jack eluded their grasp.
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