Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road. They had their little dreams about her. ” “You are separated from your wife?” “Yes, but do you know how?” “Not exactly. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. It was so hopeless to put it to them. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. “I never dreamt!” she said. 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. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment.
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