As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. Gerald at once rid himself of his own glass and leapt to her assistance. Panic leapt into his eyes as he brought his wrist up just in time to parry the blade. One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin. She floundered deep.
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