CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. , 13, Montague St. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. "In spots you are a thoroughbred; but here's a black mark on your ticket, lad.
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