"My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. . Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. A nod was exchanged. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. Lose no time. He pressed the bloody wrist into her mouth, and she though she could not feel it or 72 control it, she knew she was being made to swallow. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed.
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