The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years. . But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. Profligate women are never reclaimed. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. Perhaps she would have to charge this man and appear in a police-court next day.
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