On this fresh outburst of the storm, Wood threw himself instinctively into the bottom of the boat, and clasping the little orphan to his breast, endeavoured to prepare himself to meet his fate. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. Jonathan laughed scornfully. She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. I told him that I was not ‘Alcide. Is that it? I thought this very pretty. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. You could not have aided and assisted us more effectively by trying to drown yourself in the sea. ” She stopped short, full of things un-said. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet.
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