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“My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. What could she do? Reluctantly, at a second curt command, she began to step across the uncarpeted floor, her eyes never leaving the threatening pistol. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. I should have thought my note cleared up everything. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. They are born idiots, incurably insane. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath.
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