“In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. You say you need a man. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. The scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with their dungeon-like aspect. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long. It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of a second-hand clothes shop. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years. "I've seen him some years ago, I believe," answered Wood; "and, though he must be much changed by this time, I dare say I should know him again.
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