" CHAPTER XX To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behind him, shutting out the old world. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. You have never seen the child within your arms perishing from hunger, and no relief to be obtained. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. "Shir Rowland Trenchard's affair— eh?" "That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute. " And, committing Thames to the care of the watchman, he darted after the fugitive. "I am twenty," said the girl. " "Let me have a glass of brandy," said he, addressing the host. "Not proud in the least, I declare. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. He was alarmed when she returned to the stage and her eyes passed over him in the audience.
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