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. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream. “How do you know?” “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” “YOU don’t know. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. You were dying and your baby along with you. I learned of your betrothal, gleaned all the information I could simply by eavesdropping. I have done from the first moment I saw you.
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