" CHAPTER XIII. ’ ‘Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,’ Gerald said. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. What was the matter with Spurlock that was to keep him in bed three or four weeks? He would dig that out of the hotel manager. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. “This is a very foolish sort of entertainment. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. Only her babe died. I'll eat them when we start.
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