"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. You see, I kidnapped poor Jack and made him promise to send me word if you went careering off anywhere. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous.
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