"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. As for the doctor, he found a pleasure in this service that would have puzzled him had he paused to analyse it. I’d come back from the ends of the earth. . . She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. When you've admitted him, steal into the room, hide yourself, and don't move till I utter the words, 'You've a long journey before you.
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