" On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. "Mine died while I was over here. "Oh, I've read that!" Spurlock had heard distinctly enough all of this odd conversation; but until the spinster's reference to the family album, no phrase had been sufficient in strength of attraction to break the trend of his own unhappy thoughts.
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