It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. The other individual, who was a little in advance, was concealed from the stranger's view. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. "With all my heart!" replied Wood. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence.
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