He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. 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. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. Then instinct took over. “I hope you have not come for that. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. Let us proceed with our tale. She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. All the world before you, all the ologies. ” “By God!” said Manning, making the most of the word, “I suppose it’s fate. He proposed, he wanted to possess her! He loved her. He appeared to thunder dire happenings if she did not obey him without further ado. It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing.
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