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. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. Her sister had told him that it was true. Pardon what I have said, Madam. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy.
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