"Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. Probably a sick man's whim. You dear, dear girl. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. But don't let my name frighten you. There was still in his heart that fierce anger which demands physical expression; but he had to consider Ruth in all phases. Sheppard. “It spreads like wildfire. His blood would be sweet with it.
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