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It must be somewhere hereabouts. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. And the less “anything” happened the better. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. " "Mr. "He has passed this way," cried Jonathan, exultingly; "I have him safe enough.
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