Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. ” “She doesn’t care for him now?” “Not a bit. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. “These are the times that would make me glad to live forever, if only they lasted. ‘That’s right. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. . ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. It was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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