"Bravo!" shouted Blueskin. A species of vertigo seized him. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. —'I see how it'll be,' observed Alsatia, 'everybody'll pay his debts, and only think of such a state of things as that. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that.
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