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But it was of no avail. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. His vicious abusiveness vanished. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. I'll lay my life he's gone.
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