Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. It’s not you—not a bit. “You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. There are, then, in this sorry world, people who can be disinterestedly kind!" The doctor laughed, gave Spurlock's shoulder a pat, and left the room. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. The lady had disappeared. Kneebone smiled assent. She remembered possessing it during the Gold Rush. Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come off. Yet you knew that I was not dead.
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