But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. And tell Pottiswick to mend that lock we broke. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. I love you—with all my heart and soul. But remember my warning, and play the game!" Spurlock closed his eyes again.
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