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He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. . But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. "Perhaps things would have been different if she had lived. Wood started to his feet. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. Two shots were fired, and presently the clashing of swords was heard below. "Oh! never mind him: he'll take no harm! Come with me into the parlour.

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