Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Altogether different. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. If this is true, it must be owned that the boy's mouth showed a strong tendency on his part to coarse indulgence. . Slowly she released the hammer on the pistol, uncocking it, and Gerald became conscious that he had been holding his breath. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout.
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