Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. If only you knew what this means to me!" "We do, lad," replied McClintock, gravely. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture. "Fly, Captain, fly!" vociferated Blueskin; "I shan't be able to keep these devils down.
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