By slow degrees Mr Cupples came to himself. He was half dead with cold,
and his head was aching frightfully. A pool of blood lay on the stones
already frozen. He crawled on his hands and knees, till he reached a
wall, by which he raised and steadied himself. Feeling along this wall,
he got into the street; but he was so confused and benumbed that if a
watchman had not come up, he would have died on some doorstep. The man
knew him and got him home. He allowed both him and his landlady to
suppose that his condition was the consequence of drink; and so was
helped up to his garret and put to bed.
CHAPTER LXXV.
All the night during which Isie Constable lay dreaming of racks,
pincers, screws, and Alec Forbes, the snow was busy falling outside,
shrouding the world once more; so that next day the child could not get
out upon any pretence. Had she succeeded in escaping from the house,
she might have been lost in the snow, or drowned in the Glamour, over
which there was as yet only a rude temporary bridge to supply the place
of that which had been swept away. But although very uneasy at the
obstruction of her projects, she took good care to keep her own
counsel.
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