Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. He spent a good deal more money and time than he could afford upon the little room at the top of the house, in producing new lapidary apparatus and new microscopic accessories and in rubbing down slices of rock to a transparent thinness and mounting them in a beautiful and dignified manner. "I have good news for you. . ’ ‘It is you who is absurd,’ countered Melusine, the spark returning to her eye. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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