‘Only me name,’ Kimble said apologetically. The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. while we can,’ Kimble managed, and dragged himself onto his knees. Presently he felt motion. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. "If you arrest him, you must arrest me also.
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