Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. "Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery.
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