The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. "It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. Never sent for the shirt. "Remember!" cried Quilt, as he forced the captive along.
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