Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. " Spurlock lowered his voice. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. ‘Speak, then. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. Manning think?” said her aunt.
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