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. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. "To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. " "I don't care for that," replied Jack. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow. Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. Annabel was in hiding all the time. Got you interested in something, then? Would you like a peg?" "No.
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