just furtive meetings. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. ‘Never fear, my love. You will never be happy with this hanging over you. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. Take care he don't see you,—and bring me word where he goes, and what he does. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily. "So I will," rejoined Shotbolt; "so I will.
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