And then amusement crept into Alderley’s chest and he let his pistol hand fall. For the present the desire to fly was gone. 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. Ireton and Langley had returned from a second unsuccessful search; Marvel had come thither to bid good-night to Mrs. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. Irreton.
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