I shall quit this roof to-morrow. ” The man’s face was dark with passion. There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate.
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