He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. “Dear John,” she whispered. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. "What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. She opened her eyes. \"Of course not. Pray, walk in.
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