" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. She could even think of what had happened. ’ ‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed. "I understand," replied Rowland. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration.
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