“I am off to-night,” he said. 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. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him. The old fool’s been working on you through your sister to keep off the stage. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands. "Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong waters for consolation, Joan. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones. You seem altogether altered, too. ” “I am rebuked,” she declared. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. Andrew's, the churchyard wall of St.
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