82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own. Only you good ones— shirk. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. " "What means this idle boasting, villain?" said Thames. "Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman.
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