Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. "Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to lose. ‘I know you, Gerald. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor.
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