The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. But he sobered instantly as he recollected that O'Higgins had found Spurlock once. “Michelle, I don’t ever want to hear you mention the subject you mentioned at dinner again. She should be lifted out of her narrow little life, and it should be all owing to him. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured.
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