If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. O'Higgins eyed it thoughtfully. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. Charvill’s fury was burning out. Annabel shook her head. Capes joined the students at tea, and displayed himself in an impish mood that sometimes possessed him. .
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