That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. Rather a magniloquent term, perhaps, but what else am I to say? One of these is that the most absolutely selfish thing in the world is to give way to depression, to think of one’s troubles at all except of how to overcome them.
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