“David Courtlaw!” she repeated. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. Cast off this weakness. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. CHAPTER XIV.
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