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Miching Mallecho IX. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. “So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. Her name was Rhea. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard. I had to stay in school no matter how sick I was. Earles was absolutely indifferent. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes.
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