In this cell was a huntsman, who had fractured his skull while hunting, and was perpetually hallooing after the hounds;—in that, the most melancholy of all, the grinning gibbering lunatic, the realization of "moody madness, laughing wild. Manning told her he loved beauty, and extorted a similar admission from her; he then expatiated upon his own love of beauty. Sanguine they were not. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession. That’s my advice to you. Even then it sent Spurlock spinning backward, to crash against the wall. ’ It seems that I was mistaken. But, this sad affair disposed of, I will not rest till I have avenged my murdered parents. At last, he got into a lane, but had not proceeded far when he was again alarmed by the sound of a horse's tread.
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