He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. Presently he turned to Courtlaw. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows.
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