I have lost thee, my poor little mad master--it is a bitter thought--and I had come to love thee so! No! by book and bell, NOT lost! Not lost, for I will ransack the land till I find thee again.

Poor child, yonder is his breakfast--and mine, but I have no hunger now; so, let the rats have it--speed, speed! that is the word!" As he wormed his swift way through the noisy multitudes upon the Bridge he several times said to himself--clinging to the thought as if it were a particularly pleasing one--"He grumbled, but he WENT--he went, yes, because he thought Miles Hendon asked it, sweet lad--he would ne'er have done it for another, I know it well.".