She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways of caravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. Perhaps I am still mad. Did he not look for her in the morning when she entered—come very quickly to her? She thought of him as she had last seen him looking down the length of the laboratory to see her go. The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony.
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