Spurlock slept on. The major’s hand stilled. "Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. He got up brusquely. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Look what you have brought upon your pets.
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