“What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. From this night I shall pursue a different course; from this night his ruin may be dated. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. He might not condone it, but the feelings that had prompted it augured well for Melusine’s safety. CHAPTER XIII. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. . ’ You used to declare that you hated the name.
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