Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. "I can't say," answered the fellow; "but I'll inquire from the sexton, William Morgan. She felt this was the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. Do you know, I envy you. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. Who is it?” The man came a little further into the room.
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