Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. Thunder rumbled behind the manicured hills. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. Jack had well-nigh fallen too. He filled the rôle of comrade which Spurlock dared not enact, at least not utterly as he would have liked.
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