One can't help being jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. But what are you doing here?” “Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. ’ An expression of livid fury contorted the young man’s face and he thrust the coins back at the major. . Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. The skipper obeyed, and in another moment, they swept through the narrow lock. 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. From McClintock's came an infernal tinkletinkle, tump-tump! There was no composing with such a sound hammering upon the ear.
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