‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. Up to this moment, hopes had been entertained of a respite, strong representations in his favour having been made in the highest quarter; but now that his fate seemed sealed, the curiosity of the sight-seeing public to behold him was redoubled. Then she was out of the door and running, fast. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand.
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