For a long time neither spoke again. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. "He has escaped!" exclaimed the knight; "we have searched every corner of the house without finding a trace of him.
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