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The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. There are, then, in this sorry world, people who can be disinterestedly kind!" The doctor laughed, gave Spurlock's shoulder a pat, and left the room. When she told him that the natives called her The Dawn Pearl, his delight was unbounded. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid.
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