CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. Here was the same Ruth who had left him a few minutes since: the same outwardly; and yet…! On the ninth day Spurlock was up and about; that is, he was strong enough to walk alone, from the companion to his chair, to lean upon the rail when the chair grew irksome, to join Ruth and his employer at lunch and dinner: strong enough to argue about books, music, paintings. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost.
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