His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors. “Stop! Don’t put your face there. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. Then, when the tension was getting unendurable, and she was on the verge of speaking to some casual passer-by and demanding help, her follower vanished. He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. . CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. "Neither man nor woman shall apply that term to me. The quarry had passed out into the open sea.
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