CHAPTER XXVI Spurlock went out on his toes, careful lest the bamboo curtain rattle behind him. Without her, it was lonely. She stepped on to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. Or did he? Perhaps he had found another. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. Only a few weeks ago there was a bloody battle on the bridge there between the soldiery and the local police. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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