"I beg pardon, Sir," replied Jack, with the accent and manner of the janizary; "I was betrayed into the exclamation by my surprise that anything in which Sir Rowland Trenchard was interested could have reference to so humble a person as Mrs. ’ ‘What?’ gasped Gerald, shocked. I thought if you were living, and not captured, I should find you here,—and I was right. But I'll call a doctor, since you order it. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. But that doesn’t alter the fact that there IS innocence. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. No matter.
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