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. "I can readily see," he said, "why you'll always be as poor as a church mouse. He just seemed to have no interest, consumed with the hunt or his newfound friend, Sebastianus, who supposedly would enable him to expand his political ties to Rome. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. "Jack Sheppard had a visitor, I understand, yesterday, and may make an attempt to escape. Lost ground must be regained. "Hoddy, wake up!" She jerked his head to and fro until the hair stung. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. Spurlock went, it would not be far enough.
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