She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. To her chagrin, he ignored her, and turned a venomous eye on his betrothed. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust.
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