A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. 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. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot. " "I should like to hear all particulars of the affair," said Jackson, "if it wouldn't be troubling you too much. Prudence? Mr Remenham’s sister that was. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. While the watermen were contending with the eddies occasioned by the fall below the bridge, Jonathan observed a perceptible shudder run through Trenchard's frame. Well, I don't think they'll any of 'em nab him, that's one comfort.
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