"It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. It was time to leave America. ” Brendon leaned over confidentially. She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. At last he could bear it no longer. . But when he looked again, there she was! "I don't understand," he said, finally. There it is. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. ’ ‘Will you go back there?’ asked Gerald. The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him.
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