" "Doubt me not," replied Thames. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. ‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. If you don’t like it, I won’t be mad, I promise. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. ” He drew a little nearer to her. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room.
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