He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. She could not see clearly. Dear God, what a beautiful moment!" The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopeless weariness fell upon him. “I do want you. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. Gerald’s thoughts raced as he reached out supporting hands and murmured meaningless phrases to soothe. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. She interrupted. Bounding the corner of a garden wall, he came upon his former place of imprisonment.
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