‘I am Major Gerald Alderley of the West Kent Militia. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. Striking out his foot, he knocked half a dozen teeth down the janizary's throat; and, seconding the kick with a blow on the head from the butt-end of the pistol, stretched him, senseless and bleeding on the ground. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. Nobody knows what his real name is, but he's a Hollander. She felt she was bound in honor to tell the whole affair to Manning sooner or later. If you do not find your aunt, my people will take you under wing until you can stand on your own. There is only Gerald to see me, after all.
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