” To her relief, Trodger sent one of his men posthaste to London with this missive, while the other went to fetch the horse, having been given precise directions on how to negotiate the passage so that he might find it at the other end. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. I don’t believe any one could have traced us here. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. Plote was sleeping or deaf. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder.
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