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. "I didn't expect this from you," rejoined Thames, resolutely. " "I see through your design, Jack," returned the carpenter, gravely; "but I don't like under-hand work. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. Peste, she had forgot the sword. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do.
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