Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. They had escaped from the New Prison, it is true; but the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet high, and protected by formidable and bristling chevaux de frise, remained to be scaled. For thirty years I have lived alone; but once upon a time I lived among men. ‘What we have to find out is whether or not the wretched female is in fact Lord Charvill’s granddaughter. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one.
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