It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. He was silent. It is just the aim I have had in view all the time. 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. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. I spent many happy days there.
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