Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. But there was nothing in her bearing that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed her. I shouldn't care to express an opinion. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. "My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily.
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