“I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. . Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. But I must, they say, and try to make me with the punishments. Where was the expected message from this captain, who had promised to send her word at the instant Gerald returned to town. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor.
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