‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. “But how can you?” asked Constance. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. “I should like you to come here,” she said. I do forgive him; but he will never know now. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. ‘To where has he gone off?’ ‘No use asking me,’ shrugged the captain.
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