‘Because I love you. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. A question next arose whether the prisoner could be executed under the existing warrant,—some inclining to one opinion, some to another. ' He muttered it continually. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. The musician. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course.
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