It isn’t. ” “Until some one takes pity on me and marries me?” He raised his eyebrows in mild appeal. “It is you alone, Nigel, who have saved me from being an old maid. "Spare me!" he groaned, looking upwards. "I can't say," answered the fellow; "but I'll inquire from the sexton, William Morgan. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. The latch came with a weak click. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. I do forgive him; but he will never know now.
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