It was exactly as Sebastian had foreseen. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. I want to stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world. At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. Totally disregarding the pain, he picked up the nail, and reserved it for future use. He scratched his upper lip reflectively. But shortly this movement ceased. “Who will you stop with?” “I shall go on my own.
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