Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. “I remember when you walked me home. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted.
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