CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. I only seen her when she come with that Sister Martha. “No, stay, Lucy. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity.
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