" ***** "To me, you dirty blackguard!" cried Spurlock, flinging aside his helmet. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. "I suppose I must have been senseless for some time; for, on coming to myself, I found this gash in my head, and the ground covered with blood. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. You can think all round me.
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