Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football. You must keep out of the way till it's blown over. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. The storm burst upon them in its fury. "Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty.
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