"Captain," he cried, in a voice of the bitterest anguish, "have these dogs again hunted you down? If you hadn't been so unlucky, I should have been with you before to-morrow night. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. They were those of the Irish watchman.
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