" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. He's passed through some rough mental torture. Courtlaw’s—I should like to oblige Mr. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. " "Poh, poh, my dear! Mr. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared.
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