" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. "Yes!" interrupted Spurlock, savagely. He laughed lightly. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it.
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