Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. Sometimes it seemed that she would never recover it. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank.
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