Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. On the way, he hired a chair with a couple of stout porters, and ordered them to follow him. " "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over.
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