With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. "So, the Mohocks have been at work, I perceive," remarked Quilt, as he drew near the group. Terrific shouts were raised by the rabble, who threatened to tear Wild in pieces if he showed himself. But I've an old friend on the way here, and he knows the game down there. Wood fancied he recognised. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford.
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