. ‘I find you excessively rude, both of you,’ said the lady crossly. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. "His name, I say!—his name!" thundered the knight.
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