There was nothing to replace the all important letter from her father. m. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. 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. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening. There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate.
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