And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. Brute! Fool! To have come to her on such an errand. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. "You needn't go far to do that," returned Quilt; "there he stands. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence.
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