‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. At this juncture, the sound of oars reached his ears, and he perceived Mr. ‘Damnation!’ Confused, he released her, and in an instant she had darted away and was running down the garden. But she felt his lax figure become rigid.
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