"But I can guess what it's for. Sheppard, I'm sure, will say as much for you. " "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. “Well,” she admitted. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. "Is it poison?" she asked. She went to the post-office and drew out and sent off her money to Ramage. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. Better even than these.
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