The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years. I thought I’d see Paris, do the thing—like a toff. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. The whole affair interested him deeply. ” The money would be available in the afternoon, and she would send him four five-pound notes. ” “Some little tiff?” “No; but I don’t think I shall see them.
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