"Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. From time to time the man below would shout, and the boy would let the threads go with the snap of a harpist, only to recover them instantly. "In this pit," he added, pointing to the chasm below, "your brother is buried. You are not going to that infidel Russell’s classes.
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