Drummond patted him on the shoulder. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. "Thank you; but I've a pocket full of water-chestnuts. But,” and he faced them both with a still expressionless glance, “this is not the end!” Anna recovered her spirits with marvellous facility. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t. " "A friend is not so soon gained as lost," replied Wood; "but how has the prediction been fulfilled, Joan, eh?" "I thought you would have guessed, Sir," replied the widow, timidly.
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