"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. By Jasus! he's about to spake to us. " "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. He waved to her. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. \"I had a good time tonight. This is the first act. Would that a certain major might cast upon her such a look.
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