"Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment. ” He came and stood on the hearthrug close to her. "Yes!" interrupted Spurlock, savagely. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. "You will before I'm done with you. The blaze, however, was sufficient to reveal to the thief-taker the features of his intended assassin. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart.
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