The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold. “Dear John,” she whispered. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. It may be useful to you. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music.
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