She answered slowly. She could even think of what had happened. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. Spurling was standing near the fire superintending some culinary preparation; but she no sooner perceived him, than hastily quitting her occupation, she elbowed a way for him and the knight through the crowd, and ushered them, with much ceremony, into an inner room, where they found the objects of their search, Quilt Arnold and Rykhart Van Galgebrok, seated at a small table, quietly smoking. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. Abruptly would come the end. "Silence!" returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; "and don't muddle your brains with any more of that Pharaoh.
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