Once they were below, McClintock turned upon the doctor. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. His mirth, however, received an unpleasant check; for Abraham, greatly incensed by his previous conduct, caught him by the legs, and pushed him with such violence into the hole that the point of the spike, which he had placed in his pocket, found its way through his clothes to the flesh, inflicting a slight, but painful wound. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. The coachman having received his order, and being offered an extra fare if he drove quickly, set off at full speed. Hang the wench! Roding was right. What!—add another drop to her cup? Who knows? Any day they may find me. “Always has been,” said Ogilvy.
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