Luck to the best man! Fill!' The gipsy produced three tin cups, and filled them to the brim with brandy.

The old man turned aside and muttered to himself before he drank.

Her own name struck upon the listener's ear, coupled with some wish so fervent, that he seemed to breathe it in an agony of supplication.
'God be merciful to us!' cried the child within herself, 'and help us in this trying hour! What shall I do to save him!' The remainder of their conversation was carried on in a lower tone of voice, and was sufficiently concise; relating merely to the execution of the project, and the best precautions for diverting suspicion.

The old man then shook hands with his tempters, and withdrew.
They watched his bowed and stooping figure as it retreated slowly, and when he turned his head to look back, which he often did, waved their hands, or shouted some brief encouragement.

It was not until they had seen him gradually diminish into a mere speck upon the distant road, that they turned to each other, and ventured to laugh aloud.
'So,' said Jowl, warming his hands at the fire, 'it's done at last.