Drummond patted him on the shoulder. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. "I am sorry. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. Arrived within a short distance of his destination, he came to a halt, and pointing out a dark court nearly opposite the woollen-draper's abode, told the chairmen to wait there till they were summoned. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. She rapped again, louder. .
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