Here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. “Where am I?” he muttered. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. This way, my dear—and— you’ll excuse my mentioning it, but a quiet blouse and a little chiffon, you know, will be quite sufficient. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy.
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