Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. Wood, now more buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,—as well as a young and beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's daughter. Courtlaw—Lady Mackinnor. ‘I do not know how you think you may help me,’ she said slowly. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. Very well! I will try to help you. Courtlaw,” she remarked. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. I want my freedom.
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